X-Ceptional X-Men: First Class
by blakeosaurus23
Summary: Alternate-Canon AU. Charles Xavier has gathered five young mutants to teach them to use their powers. Pietro has defected to The Brotherhood but wants to leave, while his sister Wanda wants to stay - because she knows a huge secret that Pietro doesn't. Please read and review!
1. The Xavier Institute for Gifted

**FIRST CLASS**

 **1**

 **The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters**

The trees lining Graymalkin Lane were a lush green from days of warm, bright sun. The yellow taxi crunched slowly down the long, paved-gravel drive, surrounded by vibrant, verdant summer.

Jean Grey sat rigidly in the car, staring out the window yet not truly seeing what was there. Her mind was elsewhere - on an uncertain past and an even more uncertain future.

Today she was joining the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. The school sought out people who were special, who had abilities that others didn't. People like her.

It had only been something like a week since Charles Xavier, the school's headmaster and namesake, had visited her and her parents in Annandale-on-Hudson to propose that she enroll. Only a week to wrap her mind around the fact that she would not be moving onto high school with her friends, or living with her family, or even staying in her home town. She felt like barely any time had passed since she heard her parents agree before she'd found herself in this car, completing the trip.

Jean sighed and stared out of the windshield. The house at the end of the lane was nearing slowly. She wondered if the driver truly was creeping along or if time simply felt more stunted to her worried mind.

 _Worrying about this isn't very rational_ , she reminded herself. Yes, the turnaround from offer to event had been brief, but this had really been a long time coming. Xavier had visited her beginning five years earlier, when she was 10, and had returned periodically through the years. At first, he'd visited frequently. She suspected he'd gone so far as to briefly move to Annandale-on-Hudson. His visits lessened, and by the time he'd returned to entreat her attendance at his school, she hadn't seen him for a year, maybe two.

Jean shook herself out of her reverie as the car finally left the tree-lined lane and began to approach the house proper. There was a bit more road to go before they would reach an extended roundabout, which was not paved-gravel, but rather cobblestone. This led to a small stairway up to the house's entrance.

The house itself was enormous - more like a mansion. Two full stories and a third floor of attic windows beneath a peaked roof stared down at her. What looked almost like two smaller versions of the same house stood to either side, connected to the middle structure by large hallways that looked to include proper rooms as well.

The trees lining the road now behind them extended out across the expansive grounds. In addition to more forested areas like the entry lane, there were copses or single trees scattered about the large, open yard of the Institute.

Jean drew a quiet breath at the sight, her eyes widening. _I can't believe I'll be living here_ , she thought to herself. She'd never expected such a palatial estate. This was beyond her wildest imaginings.

She realized she'd been leaning forward to better view the building, and straightened her back against the seat. Professor Xavier had made the school sound newly-founded, but the building was certainly not new. She wondered if the school program was as new as she'd believed, as well. Just how many students would she find in this gigantic place?

As the taxi pulled round the roundabout, the front door of the mansion opened to reveal two figures - one familiar, one not.

The familiar figure was none other than Professor Charles Xavier himself. Xavier wore a tan-brown suit jacket and matching pants over a red sweater, with brown oxfords on his feet. He sat in a wheelchair, confined to it since before he'd met Jean - perhaps since birth, Jean had never felt comfortable asking. His face was angular, a pointed nose below prominent brows and striking eyebrows. The sharpness of his face was contrasted by his smooth and hairless scalp. His eyes were soft, kind eyes.

The figure behind him was different in just about every way. Jean was surprised to see that it was a boy of approximately her own age. He was tall, and would almost be scrawny if not for broad shoulders that he'd yet to grow into. He wore tan pants, with a dark blue, v-neck sweater over a yellow shirt. He had brown hair that looked like the messy and willful kind wrangled tenuously into place, and his square jaw led to a prominent chin. His most striking feature, however, was his eyes - largely because they were hidden behind sunglasses with strange reflective red lenses.

The taxi finally lurched to a stop. Jean took a deep breath, opened the door, and stepped out into the light.

A slight breeze tousled her long, red hair as she stepped out, and her yellow sundress waved with it. She carried a brown leather duffel bag at her side while the cab driver came round to bring in her larger suitcase from the trunk.

Jean made her way up the few steps leading from the cobbled drive to the landing where Xavier and the boy awaited her.

"Welcome, Jean," said Professor Charles Xavier as she joined them on the stoop.

The boy behind him seemed to be trying to look stoic and official and managing to look stiff and uncomfortable, but Charles was smiling warmly, extending a hand in welcome.

Jean set her bag down and shook the offered hand. "Thank you, Professor."

The taxi driver had joined them, and Xavier gave him a thankful nod. "Scott will take Jean's things to her room -" he gestured at the boy standing alongside him " - while Jean and I make official introductions in my study."

The boy - Scott, apparently - took Jean's suitcase and disappeared within the confines of the mansion. The taxi driver thanked Xavier, who had prepaid for the arranged trip, and went on his way. Then Xavier led Jean into the mansion itself.

The interior of the mansion was just as breathtaking as the exterior. The wood floors were polished and impeccably maintained. A gorgeous green and white rug at the entrance adorned the floors. Before her, a staircase led up to the second floor landing, and on either side the ground floor continued to doorways and hallways. The walls were wood-paneled, a touch that would have felt dated had they not been so lavishly maintained. The wood was all a warm brown that felt inviting and cozy, and light from the two windows flanking the doorway let the warmth of the day stream through. The finishing touch was a grand chandelier hanging above the rug.

Xavier led her along the right side of the grand staircase to an open door. They proceeded through a luxurious anteroom with the same design elements as the foyer and then through another doorway into what must have been Professor Xavier's office.

Inside, the room was similarly constructed as the entryway and the anteroom, but many of the walls were hidden behind floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with neatly-arranged books. One wall was almost entirely taken by a window looking out on the entry drive of the mansion, and a second grand window looked out toward the front door landing. A grand wooden desk sat opposite the door, and Xavier wheeled behind it and motioned for Jean to sit across from him.

Xavier flashed another smile at Jean as he began. "I'm very happy to have you with us, Jean. Our years of working together was the foundational idea that led me to open this school. It means a lot to me to have you with me at the start of this grand venture."

"It means a lot to me too, Professor," said Jean awkwardly. She meant it - she was truly grateful for his interest in her case - but she hadn't decided how happy she was to be here yet. Plus, she was still a little overwhelmed by the whole place, so she only half-heard him anyway.

"This Institute is for Gifted Youngsters, like yourself," continued the Professor. "You have an ability that most do not - the ability to move things with your mind."

Jean nodded. Telekinesis, she remembered him calling it.

Xavier went on. "This Institute is here to be a learning space and a safe-haven for other children, like yourself, who have unusual and amazing gifts that others do not."

This was all in the brochure, so to speak. Jean had been present as Xavier pitched the idea to her parents, and this was basically the same spiel again. She was starting to get antsy, and wondered why he was re-hashing information that she already knew.

"What I implied with that statement to your parents, but did not state outright -" Jean's eyebrows raised, "- is that each student at this school is what is known as a mutant."

"A mutant, Professor?" repeated Jean nervously.

She had heard of mutants. It wasn't something that was well-known or discussed much in the public eye, but in the past few years she had heard rumblings about a new type of human - or a new species altogether. Mutants, it was said, had dangerous abilities that made them like walking weapons. They hated humans for not having those abilities, or for being different, or something. They were out there, lurking. They could be anyone. They were dangerous.

When she'd first heard people whispering about mutants, she had already been seeing the Professor for her own problem. People talked about mutants being able to do strange, inhuman things, and she started to wonder if she was one. But Xavier never said anything about it, and her parents seemed to dismiss the existence of mutants outright, so she'd quickly put those fears to rest.

"That's right," Professor Xavier nodded. "Mutants. These are people born with a mysterious gene - we call it the X-Gene. This gene gives them abilities that others do not have. They can fly, they can breathe underwater, they can move things with their minds."

Her heart stopped. She'd always brushed mutants off as something other. She'd known she was different, but had always been able to take comfort in the fact that she wasn't the kind of different that made people whisper fearfully to each other. If Xavier was telling the truth, if she really was a mutant, then she was what her parents refused to believe in. She was what people were afraid of.

"Mutants can do all sorts of things," Xavier went on, seemingly unaware of Jean's inner turmoil. "Each X-Gene yields a different ability, and each mutant is unique - just like every other person without an X-Gene."

Xavier slowly rolled to look out the window as he continued speaking. "Mutants have been around for decades - some even say centuries. But the world is just now getting word that mutants exist, and they're trying to determine what to do with the knowledge. Early results are that mutants are frightening or dangerous. 'The Mutant Menace', I have seen it called."

He turned to look at her, the light of the day streaming through the window around him. "My goal - my dream - is to change all of that. I know that mutants are not to be feared. We are simply another kind of human, with our own dreams and desires and differences, like anyone else. And that's why I've set up this Institute - to protect mutants during their trying and vulnerable years, during adolescence, when their abilities first manifest. This gives them a haven to be safe from a world that fears them, and to learn to control their abilities, even to learn to use them for good."

"That's . . ." Jean's head was swirling. She didn't know what to say. Then something he'd just said stuck out to her. "Wait, you're a mutant, too?"

 _I am indeed_. Jean jumped in her chair. Xavier had spoken, but his mouth hadn't moved. Instead of hearing him with her ears, it felt as though he'd said it directly into her mind. She couldn't decide if it was like she'd heard him in her brain, or more that she'd felt the words he'd said.

"How did you do that?" she breathed.

Xavier wheeled closer to her. "I am a telepath. I am able to communicate and connect mentally. I can read and transmit thoughts thanks to my mutant ability."

Jean's eyes widened. "You can read my mind?" She hadn't always thought very nice things about him, and she was horrified to think that he'd been privy to her private feelings.

"I can," nodded the Professor, "but I try not to. I have worked for years to train myself not to invade another's thoughts without permission, unless absolutely necessary."

She would have been lying if she'd said that wasn't a huge relief. "So you said this school was full of mutants learning about their powers, like me?" She wondered how many students there were in the palatial mansion.

"That's correct. Unfortunately, the number is small, for now. Starting small, but building to big things, I hope."

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Jean swiveled to see the boy, Scott, standing in the doorway.

"Ah, Scott," Xavier motioned the boy into the room. "Thank you for re-joining us. Jean, this is Scott Summers. Scott, Jean Grey."

Scott walked forward, holding himself upright, causing his movement to be lurchy and awkward. He reached out a hand and she shook it, flashing her best smile and hoping her own nerves didn't show through it.

"It's proper that I introduce you to Scott first," said the Professor. "You are my first students, in one way or another." He turned to Scott. "Jean was the first person I reached out to, to offer help with her abilities. Teaching her inspired me to try teaching others, and led me to create this Institute." He looked now back to Jean. "Scott was my first official student when I embarked on this endeavor. I located him early this year, and brought him on as the premier pupil of this new program."

Jean looked again at the boy named Scott. He could almost be cute if he weren't so awkward. Add to that the fact that he was wearing sunglasses inside, and Jean wasn't sure she was too impressed with Xavier's first student.

"I'm sure you'd like to settle into your room," Xavier said to Jean. "Scott, if you would be so good as to introduce her to the other students and show her where she'll be living?"

"Of course, Professor," Scott replied. He motioned for Jean to follow him as he exited the room. She stood up and made an awkward half-curtsy of thanks to the Professor before grabbing her bag following Scott out of the room.

Scott was waiting for her just outside the door. He still held himself stiffly upright in an apparent show of formality, arms folded over his chest, but when she walked into the hall, his face softened into a slight smile.

He turned and lead her back through the anteroom and into the interior of the mansion's first floor. She fell in step beside him, and as they walked she shifted her bag from one hand to the next and eyed the boy.

Silence stretched between them before Scott finally said, "So the Professor says you're able to move things with your mind."

"Yeah. Well, kind of," Jean shrugged.

"You can _kind of_ move things with your mind?" Scott repeated, looking at her with a raised eyebrow.

Jean rolled her eyes at her own silliness. "I mean, yeah, I can move stuff. But I can't really do anything with my mind that I couldn't also do with my hands. Like, if it's too heavy for me to lift it using my arms, it's too heavy for me to lift it with my mind."

Scott nodded as he processed that response. "Still pretty cool though."

Jean laughed. "Yeah, okay, I guess so. What about you?"

There was a slight pause before Scott answered, "I, uh . . . I shoot laser beams out of my eyes. Sort of."

"Sort of?" She echoed.

"Yeah. They're technically concussive blasts, not lasers. But it's a little easier to just say lasers, and it mostly gets the point across."

She didn't know what she had been expecting him to say, but lasers from the eyes was definitely near the end of the list of possibilities. Jean had half-expected everyone at the school to be some variation of telekinesis, or telepathy as the case was with the Professor. That hypothesis had just leapt out the window.

Jean realized that she hadn't said anything in response to Scott. "That's . . . cool."

"Yeah. Cool." Scott repeated, his tone saying he thought it was anything but. Half to himself, he said, "I think Hank and Warren are out here."

He'd led Jean all the way through to the back of the mansion, which was beautiful from start to finish. She now found herself in a large living room with comfortable sofas and chairs, and the back wall made entirely of glass windows and doors.

Through the glass, the bright summer sun shone off of a rippling swimming pool before a vibrant garden that extended into a large, flat backyard of healthy green grass. Jean was taken with the beauty of the vista before her.

"I'm pretty sure they're out here," Scott muttered, again to himself, and pushed open one of the french doors leading outside. Jean followed, but she didn't see anyone.

Jean shielded her eyes for a moment as they stepped into the bright light. As she did, a shadow of a large bird swooped overhead, followed by another large shadow.

She realized that she could hear the joyous hooting and shouting of male voices. She glanced quickly from side to side, searching for the source. She felt almost disoriented, because the sounds nearly sounded like they were coming from above her.

Just then, with a loud thud, a hulking creature slammed to the ground in front of her.

Jean screamed involuntarily, recoiling in instinctual fear. Scott, however, seemed rather unfazed, and casually approached the form.

The beast straightened, and Jean realized that it was another boy presumably near her and Scott's age, though proportioned quite differently from any boy she was familiar with.

He was built like a linebacker, almost like a gorilla. He had shoulders so wide they could safely be described as massive. His arms, his back, his legs - everything on him seemed to bulge with muscle, a musculature generally unobtainable for one at the very start of adolescence. Even more strikingly, his hands and his feet - currently bare - were far too large. They seemed nearly double the size of a normal man's hands, even for larger builds. What's more, his feet almost looked like hands themselves.

As he stood fully erect, she could see that he looked hunched and hulking even still, his gigantic shoulder blades thrusting his head forward. His dark black hair was silky and voluminous. He turned to greet Scott, and she saw that his face, legs, and forearms were already covered in coarse hair befitting a man of ten or more years his senior.

Scott spoke up. "Jean, this is Hank McCoy."

"My given name is Henry, but I do prefer Hank," Hank said. "My apologies for startling you. Warren and I were just rough-housing. I didn't realized you'd already arrived."

"That's okay," Jean breathed, still intimidated by his frame.

Just then, she was dealt another shock as a second young man floated gracefully down from the sky. Speechless, Jean watched as he lighted elegantly in front of her and extended his hand.

More on instinct than from conscious choice, Jean extended her hand to him. He bowed and kissed her hand politely, flashing her a smoldering, intense gaze as he did so.

"Warren Worthington the Third," he said. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Warren was tall, with flowing blonde hair and a handsome face. He was well-built, strong and lithe. But Jean was distracted by his most prominent feature - a pair of large, white-feathered wings protruding from his shoulder blades.

Scott stepped nearer when Jean did not reply. "This is Jean Grey." He almost sounded stern as he said it.

Jean finally snapped out of it, lightly pulling her hand back and feeling her cheeks get hot. She'd been staring at these two boys - these two mutants - and had probably made them uncomfortable and made a fool of herself.

"So you're the fifth student Xavier has been talking about," Warren said, leaning casually against a nearby stone handrail. His wings draped over the rail, and they raised and extended back in what Jean had to deduce was him stretching.

"I guess?" she replied.

"What about -?" Scott began.

"He went galavanting off somewhere or other this morning," Hank said, waving a dismissive hand. "You know how he is. He'll be back when he's back."

Scott shook his head in exasperation. "Whatever. Jean needs time to get settled into her room, anyway."

Jean exchanged a few parting pleasantries with Hank and Warren as Scott led her back into the mansion. They made their way back round to the grand staircase and up to the second floor. On the landing, Scott paused and motioned to the three doors before them.

"This is the Professor's room," said Scott. "The middle door is actually an elevator, which you can get into downstairs just behind the main staircase. Then the two doors on either side lead to the Professor's bedroom, which has windows looking out over the backyard where we just were."

Satisfied, he turned to the left to continue leading her onto what would be her room.

"There's only five of us here?" Jean said, at last feeling that her thoughts were catching up to her.

"For now," Scott replied. "The Professor's dream is that this can be a thriving safe-haven for mutants someday. But every experiment has to start somewhere."

Jean thought back. "What about the other guy? The fifth one. Hank said he had left for the day?"

Scott sighed. "Yeah, he's . . . He has a hard time sitting still, so it's pretty common for him to run off during the day. I'm hoping he'll calm down a little bit once school starts tomorrow."

"Where does he run off to?" Jean wondered aloud. "This is a pretty big campus. Plus, I'm a little surprised Xavier would even let him run around without supervision."

"I'm not sure he would if he could help it," admitted Scott. "But the resources for the school, at this stage, aren't that much. Besides, I think the Professor just decided this wasn't a battle he wanted to pick, or at least not yet."

She wasn't sure quite what she'd expected, but free-reign to come and go wasn't it. For a boarding school, and one that was explicitly intended to protect vulnerable mutant youths, it seemed out of character to have a revolving door policy. But the way Scott spoke about it made it sound like a parent doing their best with a troubled child.

"A beast-boy, a guy with wings, and lazer eyes," Jean muttered to herself. It was so unbelievable, so absurd, that she couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't forget the girl who moves things with her mind," Scott laughed.

"Saving the best for last, eh, Scott?" said a voice behind her.

For what felt like the millionth time today, Jean nearly jumped out of her skin, startled at the unexpected presence. She turned to see a slim, suave boy with striking, slicked-back white hair.

The boy's hand shot out toward her, offered to shake. "I'm Pietro. What's your name?"

Jean shook his outstretched hand, noting that he had a slight accent. "My name is Jean."

"Pietro was our newest recruit until you came along," Scott supplanted. "He's also currently our only international student."

Pietro danced impatiently on his toes as he scooted by Jean and Scott. "No offense, but if Scott's going to give you my whole backstory, I'll catch you later."

With that, he ran off, and Jean realized that this was also a demonstration of his ability. Rather than walk or even run at a normal speed, Pietro moved as if in fast motion. Her eyes could track him, but by the time she registered what was happening, he was already out of sight.

"He's fast," Jean remarked in amazement.

Scott chuckled. "'Speedster' is the word the Professor used, I think." He turned to her, motioning to the door they now stood before. "And here we are: Your room."

Jean looked at the door and down the hall, taking mental inventory of where it was. Top of the stairs, turn left, walk down the hall, first door on the left. Easy enough.

Jean turned to Scott and smiled. "Thanks for the tour."

He shrugged sheepishly. "Any time."

Jean wasn't sure what else to say, feeling awkward while also looking forward to a moment alone to process the day. Scott seemed just as uncertain, and they stared at each other quietly for a moment.

Scott was the first to break the silence. "Well. If you need anything." He left the offer hanging, bowing slightly before walking back down the hall the way they'd come.

Jean watched him go for only a moment before turning to open the door to her new room.

The door opened into reveal an entryway along the sliding doors of her closet. Round the corner into her room she saw a small bathroom in the corner beyond the closet. The room itself was large enough to support a bed, dresser, and desk, all of which were present. Two windows looked out toward the middle section of the mansion, with a bit of a view of the entrance, and one looked out at the front yard itself.

On the front-facing windowsill was a light green vase with lush, pink roses. Xavier, or one of the other students, must have placed it here as a welcoming touch to the otherwise unlived in room. She flushed with thankfulness as she crossed the room to inhale the aroma.

She looked out the window, across the yard to the tree-lined path that had first brought her to the mansion. Beyond that lay the rest of Salem Center, New York, and somewhere not far away was Annandale-on-Hudson - her home.

She turned her back to the window, lost in the memories of the day's journey. She still felt out of sorts and uncertain about this whole affair, but Xavier seemed sincere in his hopes, and there was a certain charm to the other students that felt inviting.

Shaking off her reverie, she took another look at her room. Her suitcase was at the foot of the bed with her duffel bag, and aside from the flowers, these were the only personal touches to the room.

Loneliness started to creep up on her, and with it a wistfulness for the familiarity of her home. She was away from her family for the first time, away from the only town she'd ever lived in, under the roof of a man she didn't truly know and his strange pupils. She felt her eyes burn as tears threatened to form.

She shook her head, fighting off the emotions. The mansion and its inhabitants had been nothing but welcoming, and Jean decided to put her misgivings aside. After all, she couldn't deny her strange ability, and any help the Professor could give her would make her stay worthwhile.

No longer would she consider Annandale-on-Hudson home - at least not for now. Right now, she would embrace this new place as a new adventure. She had a new teacher, new friends, her first day of high school was in the morning. This was a fresh start, a chance for her to find her footing and begin stretching to reach the woman she would grow into.

This was her home now. She would embrace the newness, embrace the experience, embrace the teaching and her mutation and her brand new world.

She could succeed. She would succeed. And someday she might become someone exceptional.


	2. The Danger Room

_**Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Jean Grey arrived at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters. She was greeted by Professor Charles Xavier, who explained that he and his students are all mutants - humans born with supernatural abilities. Xavier himself has telepathic abilities, while Jean has telekinesis. Scott Summers, a boy with force blasts that shoot from his eyes, introduces her to the other students: Hank McCoy, a muscular, bestial boy with hand-like feet, Warren Worthington III, a handsome boy with angelic wings, and Pietro Maximoff, a boy who can move at superhuman speeds.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **2**

 **The Danger Room**

He awoke to a splitting headache, worse than the one from the day before.

Groaning, he pressed his hands to his forehead, trying to alleviate the pain. He could feel the headache throbbing in the back of his eyeballs.

He slowly opened his eyes, promptly squeezing them shut again with another loud moan. In his brief moment of vision, the world had seemed to pulse. The light was blindingly bright, and his vision swam in a nauseating, shifting manner.

"Oh, god," he breathed nigh involuntarily. His aching skull was nearly overwhelming; it was hard for him to think.

It had been only several weeks prior when he'd first started getting the headaches. A minor nuisance at first, they quickly progressed in severity with each passing day. Several recent migraines had left him laid out for hours at a time

Those paled in comparison to this one, however. The level of pain made him think that perhaps he was not just having a migraine, but was deathly ill.

He rolled and writhed in bed, trying to shake the ache that, if anything, seemed only to be growing by the moment. It felt like his head was being squeezed in a vice, with pinpoints of misery in his eyes.

The pain surged, a knife jammed into the back of his eyeballs, and he cried out, his eyes flying open in an involuntary convulsion.

And as his eyes opened, an explosion of energy burst forth from them. With a crackling sound, beams of bright red energy shot out. The energy fired out in all directions, uncontrolled, shooting straight forth or snaking about like a lightning strike - with his eyes as the source.

He was able to see through the energy wave, but he heard more than saw as the ceiling was ripped to shreds by the force of the energy blasts with a deafening boom. Debris rained down around him as he wrenched his eyes shut, shielding them with his hands, his screams mixing with the sound of detritus tumbling around him.

Through the pain in his head, through the abject confusion, through the sudden pounding at his door and the settling of the rubble of the ceiling, he screamed.

Scott Summers jolted awake

Grasping blindly on his bedside table, he felt for his glasses. Placing them on his face, he opened his eyes to a world awash in red.

As always, his alarm rang promptly at 6 AM, and he pulled himself up to a seated position as he shut it off. He sat there for a moment, letting his grogginess be overtaken by wakefulness, and looked around at his red-tinted world.

The world was not truly red, but that was how it appeared to Scott's eyes. Because of his mutant ability: a constant, uncontrollable blast of concussive force fired from his eyes at all times. Literally any time his eyes were open, beams of destructive red energy were shooting out from them.

When Professor Charles Xavier had first found him, his mutation had only just manifested. Since manifestation, Scott had gone through his days blind, with cloth wrapped over his eyes to keep them firmly shut.

It wasn't until several days later that it was discovered that ruby-quartz could counteract the optic blasts. For some reason, this material could safely absorb his optic blasts, and so several pairs of glasses with ruby-quartz lenses had been commissioned. Scott didn't know the science of how it worked, but then, he didn't really know the science of how his optic blasts worked, either. All he needed to know was that it allowed him to open his eyes without destroying whatever he was looking at.

Whether because the ruby-quartz lenses were red or because Scott's own optic blasts were, he was essentially color-blind, seeing the world only in varying hues of red. But Scott was more than happy with this sacrifice; the terrible power of his optic blasts was too dangerous without some sort of restraint.

He'd grown used to the glasses and his red-colored world, but he still found himself lost in thought about it fairly frequently. After all, it hadn't been very many months ago when everything had begun. Taking a deep breath, Scott let these thoughts slip away.

He turned his focus on his morning ritual, getting ready and dressed for a quick workout before school. It had been about a week since Jean Grey had arrived at the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters, where Scott lived with his fellow mutant teens. She was the fifth and final student in Professor Xavier's inaugural class, the beginning of his dream to create a safe haven for young mutants to learn how to control their mutation before entering society as adults.

The day after Jean arrived had been the first day of high school for them. All five of Xavier's new students were freshmen, plucked from around the world to join the Institute and attend a nearby high school. The adjustment had been rough, since none of Xavier's students were originally from this part of the country, but they'd all fared decently well so far.

Before their first day of school, Xavier had called all the students together to caution them against revealing their identities as mutants.

"As you know, mutants are still largely unknown," Xavier had said, "but the general population is slowly growing more aware of our existence. While this building and the surrounding grounds are a haven for you young mutants, the school you will be attending is not. Westchester High School may have other students who are mutants - in fact, I daresay that is a certainty. But mutants are still largely a secret only whispered about, and humans are notoriously hostile toward things they don't understand.

"I understand that this is not your fault, and I truly wish you did not have to hide your gifts from your classmates. However, I must implore you to keep this secret safe - even from your closest friends. The fear that they may feel is an irrational and misplaced fear, but it is very real - as are its potential consequences."

Xavier had paused to let this sink in, catching the eye of each of his five charges before continuing.

"I don't mean to cast a pall over your day, but I do need to stress the potential gravity of the situation. You may decide to tell someone you're sure you can trust, but even if they are not hostile, they may let your secret slip to someone who is. Keep in mind that this Institute's standing as a mutant institution is unknown. To expose yourself would be to risk exposing this place and all your fellow students that live here."

As far as Scott knew, The Professor's words had stuck. Xavier had done his best to break the tension and lighten the mood after his warning, but Scott felt sometimes that his words hung over his head like a guillotine.

Along with the need to keep their identities and powers secret had come concern at the challenges of doing so. While Jean and Pietro looked perfectly human, the other three each had physical indicators that displayed their mutation to the world.

Scott's ruby-quartz glasses were explained away with a doctor's note provided to the school by Xavier. He was said to have an eye condition that demanded he wear eye protection at all times, and the few people who'd asked about the details had not found Scott to be forthcoming with information. He brushed it off as something uncomfortable to discuss, implying some sort of trauma, and people were content to leave it be.

While evidence of Scott's mutation could be seen publicly and explained away, the same could not be said of Warren's giant feathered wings. The solution to this was a body brace of sorts. The sophisticated design strapped Warren's wings tight to his body such that they couldn't be seen, and otherwise provided no apparent restriction to his movements. Aside from having to change privately for gym class, Warren was able to pass without incident using this brace.

Unfortunately, the brace was not very comfortable. Jean asked him about it, and Warren had admitted that it was a day-long discomfort, even painful at times. He likened it to wearing too-small shoes all day. Yet he dutifully wore it every day and Scott couldn't recall hearing him complain about it.

Hank's mutation, like Scott's, was not able to be hidden. His body was a hulking, muscular body already covered with coarse hair, making him appear far older than his fourteen years. Even so, Hank had explained this away with the excuse of being an early bloomer.

Along with his physique, Hank had longer arms than normal, with abnormally large hands and feet. In fact, his feet were almost ape-like, with a longer and more opposable toe than that of other humans. Hank was able to hide this in his boat-like shoes, but still the others had wondered how his remarkable form could pass without being met with constant skepticism.

"People want to believe in the simplest, easiest answer - and they see what they want to see," he'd quipped simply. And so far, he seemed to have been proven right.

Scott shook his head to clear it of sleepiness and his wandering thoughts. Despite it being the weekend, Scott had intentionally kept his alarm set to sound early. He wanted to get a workout in before the Professor revealed his surprise.

Xavier had mentioned it the day before, noting that he wanted all five of his students present the following morning for a special class. He'd neglected to say more, and the five of them had decided that he probably wanted to have another discussion about their mutant powers and how they should keep them secret.

Before any of that happened, Scott wanted to be sure he'd worked out. He changed quickly into some athletic clothes and headed for the elevator near the main stairway.

All of the students, along with the Professor, slept on the second story of the mansion which, excepting a minor attic space, was the top floor. Below the ground floor was a basement with storage, laundry, and the like. But below that was a sub-basement, and this contained locker rooms, a gym, and even a pool.

Scott had begun tentatively exploring the gym shortly after his arrival at the Xavier Institute. There had been a few boys his age or older at the orphanage who'd taken to working out, and Scott had often wished to join them. Unfortunately, they weren't boys who were particularly fond of his company or with whom he got along well, so nothing had ever come of it.

He hadn't really known what to do with himself until Warren had shown up. As a consequence of his affluency, Warren had been attending an athletic club with his father from a young age, and had developed an interest in maintaining peak physique before he'd hit puberty.

Warren knew his way around the gym, and Scott had found it much easier to admit his ignorance and ask for guidance from him. That wasn't to say Scott hadn't felt embarrassed or intimidated. Since he'd been working at it for years, Warren had already started to develop a lean, taut musculature that was developing into a truly impressive physique.

By contrast, Scott was a scrawny, wimpy looking kid. He had broad shoulders, but his flat chest, skinny tummy, and weak arms easily counteracted them. Scott envied Warren almost as he'd envied the boys back at the orphanage, and he'd determined to work hard until he started to see the kind of results he wanted.

As he'd expected, he had the gym to himself this morning. The other students were probably still asleep, but he usually worked out alone anyway. The only other student who would really exercise with him was Warren, as Pietro had no apparent interest and Hank's mutation meant his workout was beyond Scott's or Warren's physical capacity.

Scott put himself through a strenuous workout. He'd started off with a notebook, meticulously logging each exercise at each weight, but had soon realized he could just as quickly track these things in his head. This allowed him to flit quickly from one exercise to the next, allowing himself only scant rests between each exercise.

After forty-five minutes, Scott was panting and sweating. His muscles were spent, and he groaned as he trudged back to the elevator and up to his room.

He stripped off his sweaty clothes and enjoyed a soothing, steaming hot shower. Feeling refreshed, he dressed himself for the day and went down the stairs to the first floor.

The savory scents of breakfast wafted up the stairs, urging him on quickly. He rounded the stairs and jogged into the kitchen, where the cook, Marilyn Hannah, was preparing plates of food.

"Good morning, Marilyn!" Scott smiled.

"Good morning, Scott," chirped Marilyn.

Scott crossed through the kitchen and into the adjoining dining room. The many windows facing the front and side of the Institute's grounds let warm morning sunlight stream into the room. Hank and Jean were already at the table. Hank was fully dressed and engrossed in a book, while Jean was still in pajamas, hair matted from sleep.

"'Morning, Scott," Jean yawned, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Hey Jean," Scott replied, and immediately felt like an idiot for not saying some form of "good morning" back to her.

Every time he was around her, he felt like such an oaf. They weren't close friends or anything, but they'd interacted pleasantly every day since Jean had arrived at the Institute, and they seemed to like each other well enough. Despite that, for some reason, Scott always felt like he was tripping over his body and words when he was around her. He had no idea why.

"Glad you could join us, Slim," Pietro chuckled, zipping into the dining room and distracting Scott from his internalized scolding. Scott rolled his eyes in exasperation. He should never have told Pietro about his nickname in the orphanage.

"What time is this whatever-it-is going down?" Scott asked.

"Unknown," replied Hank absently, still focused primarily on his book. "The Professor's cryptic invitation left barely enough information for wild conjecture."

"Warren is still asleep, too," Jean said through another yawn. She looked like she thought Warren had the right idea.

"As is his right," Professor Xavier interjected, rolling lightly into the room.

The kids all greeted him before he continued. "I would like for each of you to meet me at the ground floor elevator in one hour. Warren is welcome to sleep until then - though he may wish he'd had breakfast by the end of the exercise."

With that, Xavier chuckled lightly to himself and rolled into the kitchen, leaving the students to keep puzzling about what exactly the Professor had in store for them.

The rest of breakfast was mostly spent in wild speculation about what the Professor had planned. Slowly, they each finished their breakfast and filtered out to get ready, until they all found themselves together in front of the staircase one hour later.

Warren was still rubbing sleep from his eyes and absently chewing on a quickly-nabbed bagel. Everyone else was relatively wakeful, and Pietro was tapping his foot quickly in his customary state of impatience.

"Thank you all for joining me here at my request," Xavier said as he arrived.

"You've certainly piqued our interest with your cryptic invitation, Professor," Hank replied.

Xavier nodded knowingly. "Then follow me, and I will demystify things for you."

He led them all round the stairs to the elevator. The elevator was thankfully spacious enough to accommodate all six of them, including the Professor's chair and Warren's wings. Scott couldn't quite see what button Xavier pushed on the elevator doors, but soon they closed and he felt them moving down.

Xavier broke the silence again as the elevator descended. "I brought you all to this school because I hoped to provide you some safety and guidance as you grow into your mutant abilities. The exercise we're going through today is designed to help you with your abilities in a simulated hostile environment."

"Hostile environment?" Warren repeated as he stifled another yawn.

Xavier frowned for a moment before answering. "Yes. As you all know, mutants are an unknown to the general public, and the reaction some people have to unknowns is fear, possibly even violence. While I sincerely hope that none of you ever face this, it is a reality that I want you to be prepared for."

"What are you getting at, Professor," Jean inquired, looking concerned.

Scott was wondering the same thing himself. He also wondered where they were going; it felt like they'd been in the elevator long enough to get to the sub-basement - maybe even longer.

As if answering his unspoken question, the elevator's heavy, blue steel doors opened to reveal an unfamiliar landscape.

They were staring out into a large, futuristic space. The walls were cold, heavy steel, and looked like they could take a blast from a bomb and stay strong. It was reminiscent of the sub-basement, where the gym was located.

Much of the space was dark, but Scott could see that there were display screens above large control boards along the far walls. He wondered what all this was for as the Professor rolled out ahead of them, leading them round the elevator entrance to look on the other side.

They followed him to find themselves standing in front of massive steel doors. Professor Xavier turned to look at them. "You've all known of the sub-basement, but what I had not yet revealed is that it is only the first of two. Welcome to the second sub-basement."

A murmur of surprise ran through the group before Xavier continued. "We are now in front of what is known as the Danger Room."

"That's not intimidating at all," Warren quipped. He was still half overwhelmed with the space, but the surprise was definitely helping him wake up.

The Professor smiled. "The Danger Room is a high-tech training facility. It is equipped with sophisticated robotics which allow the room to re-shape itself into countless challenges and scenarios. It even includes some holographic capabilities, allowing for an injection of realism into various scenarios."

"So you want us to go into this Danger Room?" Jean wondered.

"That's correct," Xavier replied. "I have installed a basic challenge program. Think of it as a high-tech obstacle course. We will use this simulation for each of you to practice utilizing your individual gifts to cross a dangerous area."

"You want us to use our powers?" echoed Scott uneasily.

"The point of this exercise," replied Xavier, "and, indeed, this entire Institute, is to empower you to use your powers confidently and safely. For today, you will simply need to get from one end of the Danger Room to the other."

"Sounds easy enough," Warren interjected. "I'll go first."

"Not just yet," the Professor countered. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, but before I send you in, I'd like for you to be prepared. Come this way."

* * *

Scott picked uncomfortably at the uniform he was now wearing.

The Professor had taken them up to the sub-basement changing rooms and presented them with specially made suits, designed to protect them during training exercises. They were black with a yellow X pattern crossing the chest and back. They were made of a breathable material reminiscent of spandex in feel and breathability, though the Professor assured them its durability was much greater.

Scott's suit also included a new piece designed specially for him: a visor for his eyes. The visor was a lightweight, golden metal that sat snugly but comfortably upon his face, resting over his eyes. It had a single long, ruby-quartz lens, like his glasses, to hold in his optic blasts. There was a button on the side of the visor that would allow Scott to fire the blast freely, and he could even manipulate the intensity of the blast using a dial next to said button.

The students had all changed into their matching suits and gathered back in front of the Danger Room in the second sub-basement, where Xavier was waiting for them. Scott saw that everyone else seemed fidgety in their form-fitting costumes, too.

Scott was particularly embarrassed standing next to Warren and Hank. Warren's body was lean and muscular, while Hank was a hulking form like a bodybuilder, and the suits left little to the imagination. Scott felt scrawny and weak next to them. He blushed when Jean glanced their way, even though she seemed preoccupied with her own garb.

Pietro was the only one among them who seemed relaxed, and he was expressing it by poking fun at the others.

"We're a sight for sore eyes," he chuckled. "Xavier wants us to cross the Danger Room, but I wouldn't even feel comfortable crossing the street in this getup. Right, Wings?"

Warren clearly didn't notice Pietro's jab. Pietro turned to Scott and giggled. "New glasses with the suit. You look like you only have one eye."

"As I stated earlier," Professor Xavier interjected, thankfully cutting off Pietro with his arrival, "the point of this exercise is, simply, to cross from one end of the Danger Room to the other. If I remember correctly, Warren had opted to go first."

The Professor keyed a button on the wall next to the giant metal doors and they rumbled to life. The two massive doors slid open to reveal a small, dimly lit room beyond.

They all followed Xavier through the doors and into the small holding area, with identical doors just ahead. Off to one side was a staircase leading up above, and to the other a set of elevator doors.

Xavier turned to them. "Warren, you'll wait here while I go up to the control area. The rest of you will follow me there, and we can watch Warren make the first attempt."

"Oh great," Warren laughed, nerves breaking through his bravado. "You're going to give them an unfair advantage, letting them watch me take this down first."

"Knowing what to expect but not what to do about it is just as challenging as not knowing at all." Xavier responded sagely. "If not more so."

That statement certainly didn't put Scott any more at ease. He and the others left Warren standing there and walked up the stairs, while Xavier took the elevator to the next level.

They found themselves in a control booth with a large control panel in front of multiple screens, beyond which windows looked onto a darkened space. Xavier had already booted up the system, it seemed, and a screen displaying all five of their names in alphabetical order was visible. Xavier highlighted Warren's name and then placed his hand against his head, fingers lightly touching his temple.

 _Warren, I'm reaching out to you and your fellow students telepathically._

Scott jumped as the Professor's voice rang soundlessly in his head. Xavier would occasionally communicate via telepathy rather than speech, but did so sparingly, and Scott still hadn't gotten used to the odd, discorporeal quality of the words.

 _I am prepared to begin the test as soon as you are ready, Warren._

There was a pause, and the students all looked at Xavier, wondering what signal he might give that Warren had responded.

Hesitantly, they heard Warren's voice telepathically respond. _I'm ready, Professor._

Xavier didn't acknowledge that Warren had responded telepathically, but Scott realized that Xavier must have enabled him to communicate back, and then transmitted that aloud to the students, like a mental speakerphone.

The Professor pushed a button and Scott heard as well as felt the doors below them opening. These must be the second set of doors, opening to allow Warren admittance into the Danger Room proper. Scott could see a slight line of light that slowly widened with the doors.

Scott and the rest of the students were glued to the windows, and slowly the lights in the room beyond turned on to illuminate the space.

Much like the rest of the second sub-basement, the Danger Room seemed to be made entirely out of thick, blue-tinted steel. The walls, floor, and ceiling all had a dull metallic sheen. Each of these surfaces seemed made of multiple panels, but otherwise the room was vast, empty, and featureless.

Scott was puzzled. From the way the Professor had described it, he'd been expecting space-age ray guns or buzzsaw arms or something more menacing.

They saw Warren creep cautiously into the room, wings tensed. Scott looked over to Professor Xavier to see him pushing another key on the control pad. The highlight around Warren's name on the display screen flashed, and immediately the Danger Room began to emit a whirring hum of motion.

For a moment the room didn't change. Then panels across all four surfaces lifted, one after another, to reveal all kinds of menacing constructs. There were whirling bludgeons and guns of some sort sticking out everywhere. Just to cross the room, Warren would certainly have to take flight and dodge, and that's before the guns started shooting whatever it was they would shoot.

"Yikes," Pietro muttered. Scott was sure Pietro had spoken for them all with that one.

 _Warren_ , the Professor spoke psychically again, _this room is meant to test you by presenting a dangerous crossing. While nothing in here is lethal, you may find yourself with bumps and bruises if you aren't careful. Put your mutant power to the test, and do your best to reach the other side!_

Warren hesitated for a moment before his massive wings extended and beat the air about them. In seconds, he was airborne, soaring into the middle of the room. The whirling implements and guns reacted to his motion, clearly noting his movement and following him. Some of the bludgeoning machines extended outward on robotic arms, and the guns began firing what looked like beanbags, pellets, and paintballs everywhere.

It had barely begun, but Warren was already engulfed in a chaotic swarm of projectiles and metal instruments. He swerved and dove and twisted to avoid the arrays, but Scott saw that he was getting hit by almost as many projectiles as he missed.

He fared well against the larger bludgeoning machines that reached out for him, but the projectiles seemed far more difficult for him to anticipate and avoid. At one point, Warren actually stopped to nearly hover in midair and screamed in frustration - a cry muted by the thick glass of the control room.

Warren shifted his focus to the projectiles, and Scott was impressed to see that he was now able to dodge nearly all of them. Unfortunately, with his attention elsewhere, he was no longer as reactive to the spinning bludgeons, and as he was looking off to one side at a beanbag gun tracking his way, one of the bludgeons whipped around and cracked him in the side.

Warren plummeted down several feet to the metal floor. He managed to lighten his fall somewhat with his wings, but it was clear that he landed hard. By the time he hit the ground, Xavier had already shut off his training.

Scott was awed to see the numerous traps recede quickly behind the plates from whence they'd sprung. In moments, the Danger Room was again empty, save for Warren, who was still laying on his stomach as he'd landed, catching his breath.

 _A valiant first attempt_ , Professor Xavier's thoughts rang in their minds. _Join us in the Control Room and we shall continue the challenges._

Warren returned to the group, and Pietro volunteered to go next. He boasted that his super speed and reflexes would allow him to easily pass through the Danger Room before the obstacles had chance to properly lock onto him.

As soon as the machines reappeared, Pietro was off, moving so fast that he left a black and yellow blur in his wake. However, as he blitzed through the obstacle course, his footfalls landed on one metal tile that instantly responded to his step. Faster than they could blink, the tile spun around, throwing Pietro skidding along the room on his backside. Before he'd even come to a complete halt, he'd been pelted with numerous bean bags and paintballs.

Jean was next, striking a determined look on her face as she left the Control Room to face her challenge. She entered the Danger Room with a much more slow and careful pace. She successfully dodged the flailing metal arms spinning about, and Scott was thrilled to see paint pellets and beanbags bouncing helplessly away from her, as though crashing against an invisible wall. This was his first exposure to her telekinetic power, and it was a sight to behold.

Unfortunately, Jean's powers seemed to wear her out far faster than she was able to cross the room. When deflecting the projectiles, Jean always paused to concentrate, slowing her already slow pace through the room to a veritable crawl. Soon, Scott could tell from his vantage point that the beanbags were bouncing away less quickly, looking less like they were hitting an invisible wall and more like they were slowed and then sling-shot away.

It was only a short while after Jean's deflections began to weaken that she gave them up entirely. She started to dodge the projectiles, presumably too spent to access her telekinesis for the moment. But the use of her powers had clearly taken its toll, as her movements were sluggish and delayed, and it was only a few seconds more before she was taken down to the ground by one of the bludgeoning arms that caught her off guard from behind.

Hank was next, leaving Scott for last. What Pietro had in speed and Warren in flight, Hank had in agility, and his abilities were on full display in the obstacle course. He bounded around the room at breathtaking speed, easily avoiding the various traps. However, the further he went, the denser the obstructions became. Hank made a daring leap upon one of the whirling bludgeons, catapulting himself into the air toward the other end of the room.

 _He's going to make it!_ Scott thought to himself. But at that moment, another arm extended toward Hank. Flying through the air, there was nothing Hank could do but be knocked back.

Finally, Scott was the only one left who had not yet attempted the course. His heart beat fast and his stomach roiled as he made his way down to the dark waiting room to await the start of his trial.

 _Remember, Scott, this is a test of your mutant powers in a safe environment,_ Professor Xavier's thoughts echoed over Scott's nerves _. Use them to make it through!_

Scott grimaced. His powers weren't like the ones the others had. Jean could move things with her mind, and the other three guys had abilities that allowed them to maneuver faster or better. For Scott, his mutation left him with powerful, concussive eye beams - but to unleash them, even in such an environment, would be too great a risk. His mutant ability was dangerous, and he didn't even like the idea of getting comfortable using it.

The doors opened on the now familiar scene of spinning implements, waiting metal arms, and tracking projectile weapons. Scott was determined to succeed - without using his devastating power. He took a deep breath and stepped into the room.

There was no immediate danger at the room's entrance, but this would swiftly change, as Scott could see the projectile guns already tracking to his location. Soon there would be a hail of pellets, beanbags, and paintballs, and he was certainly least equipped of the bunch to dodge them.

One of the whirling, bludgeoning implements was ahead of him, one which would reach out to follow him, if he guessed correctly. Now that he was in the room, he could see how it spun round, how the bludgeoning arms connected to the base. They seemed to be on some sort of track, and Scott could already feel an idea coming on.

He looked again at the tracking guns and saw that his time was up. They would start firing any moment, and his half-formed plan would have to do.

Without another thought, Scott broke into a sprint in a curving line toward the nearest tracking gun. His muscles screamed at him, still exhausted from the morning's workout, but he ignored it. He ran wide so that the guns would have to track even further before centering on him, and if he'd timed this right, the nearest one would be facing him just as he passed in front of it.

He heard the pneumatic sound of the guns on the other side of the room beginning to fire, and as he turned for visual confirmation, saw that he'd been right about the bludgeoning arms reaching out after him. At this rate, the arms would reach him right as he made it to the wall-mounted guns - followed by projectiles from the guns on the other side of the room.

Scott was already breathing hard as he came up to the right-hand guns. He'd swerved just so to avoid getting caught in their gaze long enough to fire, but he heard the whirring of the bludgeoning arm inches behind him.

He hesitated for only a moment, allowing the guns to finally lock, and then ducked.

The gun fired just as the arms came to crash into where he'd been standing. His hair tousled with the wind off the metal arm. The beanbag shot from the gun flew right into the opening of the mechanical arms as the bludgeon knocked the gun offline.

Knowing there was no time to relish this small victory, Scott began sprinting again. His legs ached as they pounded against the steel floor. Paintballs and pellets burst against the ground where his feet had been seconds before.

As his attention turned to the rest of the room and his next challenge, his heart sank. Though he'd managed to maneuver himself in a way that none of the others had, despite their relative advantages, he'd only covered maybe a quarter of the room, at most. His breath was already coming in shallow bursts from his dead sprint, and he couldn't imagine a way to physically push himself hard enough to best the entire room.

 _Very good, Scott,_ the Professor's telepathic voice admonished _. Keep pressing on. Use your mutant ability and you're sure to succeed._

 _Easy for you to say_ , Scott thought to himself - privately, he hoped. The Professor may be a powerful telepath, but reading minds couldn't compare to unleashing catastrophic destruction just by opening your eyes unshielded.

Scott shook his head of those thoughts as he approached another challenge: two sets of whirling bludgeons next to one another. One or both was sure to react to his proximity, to reach out and strike at him. All the while, projectiles were firing all around him.

Guessing that he could avoid the shots being fired at him if he kept his current pace, Scott narrowed his focus on the two machines he was approaching. He watched them and got a sense for the rhythm of their movement. He could do this. He could time it just right.

The bludgeons whirred and raised on menacing mechanical arms to grasp him. Scott adjusted his speed and angle according to their movement, took a leap at just the right moment - and landed safely on the other side!

Panting, Scott yearned to stop and catch his breath, but knew that it was a luxury he couldn't afford. He could already hear the arms twisting, coming round to chase after him. Plus, there was another one right in front of him, a striking arm rushing at him.

The arms he'd just jumped through came up alongside him, blocking his flank. To jump back or to either side would be to leap right into them, and forward would be to meet the oncoming strike head-on.

 _There's no way out,_ Scott thought despairingly _. Unless . . ._

His fingers twitched. The visor had a button along the side to release his optic blast. It would be more than strong enough to knock the oncoming machine away. His arm muscles tensed, ready to raise.

And then they relaxed. No matter what, Scott couldn't take the risk of firing his optic blasts. Not here. Not ever.

The bludgeon before him caught him square in the stomach. Scott was sure the Professor had programmed it such that the blows would be safe, but the wind was still knocked out of him. Almost before he knew it, he was on his butt and the machines were audibly depowering.

Scott sat there, catching his breath and replaying the challenge in his head. He was the only student who had truly bested any of the obstacles. Beyond dodging, he'd managed to get two of the machines to knock each other out. That had to stand as a major victory in the day's training - so why didn't he feel victorious?

If only he could unleash his mutant power without fear of harming someone or destroying something. With his optic blast, Scott was sure he could have made his way through to the other side.

But it was too dangerous, too great a risk. Scott was ashamed for even thinking it. What's more, he was ashamed for the slight thought gnawing at the back of his mind that he might even _want_ to use it.

"Well done, everyone," Professor Xavier's voice rang out behind him. Scott turned and saw that the Professor and his fellow students had all come to stand with him in the middle of the Danger Room.

Xavier continued. "You all performed very well under the stress of an unknown situation and the challenges of the Danger Room. In particular, Scott, you showed quick, strategic thinking. I'm proud of all of you."

Scott's fellow students all showed a mix of pride and determination for next time on their faces, echoing his own feelings.

"Thank you again for meeting me here on an early weekend morning," the Professor concluded. "You may change out of your suits in the locker rooms, and enjoy the rest of your day."

The students murmured thank yous and goodbyes to Xavier as they exited. Scott rubbed his stomach, still throbbing from the hit he'd taken.

"Nice work, Scott," Jean said to him as they walked out.

"Thanks. You too." His reply was distracted; he was still going through the steps in his mind, wondering what he could have done differently.

He decided that he would definitely overcome this challenge. And he would do it without the use of his powers _.  
_

* * *

 **Next Time:** A Night at the Carnival!


	3. The Immovable Blob

_**Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Xavier, a powerful telepath, has gathered five mutant teenagers to his Institute to help protect them and teach them to use their powers. He introduces them to the Danger Room, a high-tech training area, and puts them through their paces. Warren, Pietro, Jean, and Hank all struggle with the challenge. Scott is the only one to succeed in overcoming any part of the Danger Room - and the only one to not use his powers!

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **3**

 **The Immovable Blob**

Warren breathed a sigh of relief as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day. It had been a long day and an even longer week, but it was finally the weekend and he couldn't be happier.

The weekend promised an opportunity to relax and unplug - despite the Danger Room sessions the Professor had been running them through. They'd been introduced to it two weeks prior, and both weekends had found them fighting to make it to the other side.

So far, none of them had succeeded - a fact which Warren was loath to admit. He was fairly happy with his mutant ability, and his failure to use it to get all the way through the Danger Room rubbed him the wrong way.

Warren felt his wings tense and flex as he thought of flying. He wore a tight harness under his clothes to hide his wings, holding them close to his body. The harness wasn't particularly comfortable, and could be downright painful on occasion. He grimaced as he was reminded of this.

Despite having to hide it, Warren had grown to like his mutation. His large, angelic wings gave him a striking figure that none other could boast. And while everyone dreamed of being able to fly, he actually could.

Along with his ability to fly, Warren vision had grown sharper. Around the time his wings sprouted from his back, he noticed that he could see farther, that the lines distinguishing one figure from another were more distinct, and that he could track motion in a way he never could before.

Some of his classmates at the Xavier Institute seemed to rue the fact that they were mutants, but he certainly didn't. Sure, sprouting giant wings and trying to hide them wasn't ideal, but the trade off was more than worth it.

Scott Summers seemed to be in the "being a mutant sucks" camp. He had the ability to shoot a concussive blast from his eyes which was reportedly extremely powerful and dangerous, though Warren had yet to see it for himself. Scott viewed this as a burden or a curse. Granted, the eye beams were uncontrollable, but they could be contained with special eyewear. In Warren's opinion, Scott's ability seemed pretty sweet.

Warren left his classroom and began to make his way through the crush of high school students. He always tried to keep himself to one side of the hall, to prevent people from bumping against his back, where his wings were strapped down tight. Avoiding this served a twofold purpose: to prevent strangers from feeling the wings through his clothes, and to ward away the jolt of pain he sometimes felt when the wings were jostled or pressed in the harness.

He paused to avoid a particularly congested bit of hallway and noticed a flyer for the upcoming homecoming week. It wasn't far away, and there would be the traditional football game and dance on the same weekend.

Hank was probably looking forward to the football game. He'd played football from a young age and was on the school team now. Even as a freshman, he'd already made a name for himself as being a particularly strong player. The fact that this could likely be attributed almost entirely to his mutation was one thankfully unknown to the general populace.

Warren was less interested in the football game than the dance. He'd attended a fair amount of galas in his youth, accompanying his parents in their various high society visitations. These hadn't always been enjoyable occasions; wearing a suit to a stuffy, subdued event tended not to inspire much excitement in a young boy's mind. But the homecoming dance seemed like it would be a dance of a different kind.

The downside of growing up affluent was that Warren hadn't had many of the traditional growing up experiences that people his age were expected to have. Having sleepovers with friends, hanging out at the mall, parties when parents were out of town, school dances - these things weren't common in his youth of prep schools and personal estates.

The homecoming dance offered a new opportunity. Attending a dance with his peers - a dance whose goal was not to fundraise or fraternize but simply to have fun - would be a new and exciting experience.

What's more, Warren already knew who he'd like to bring along.

It was only a few minutes before Warren caught up to her. He first saw her vibrant, red hair over the sea of high schoolers. Jean Grey always seemed to stand out in a crowd.

Wincing as he tried to ignore the pull of his wings against the harness, Warren pushed through the throng toward her.

She turned toward him as he neared her, and her face lit up with a smile.

"Miss Grey," he said with pretend ceremony.

"Mister Worthington," she replied, before a questioning look crossed her face. "Or is it 'Mister Worthington the Third'?"

Warren laughed. "Either one is fine, I guess."

"Very well, Mister Worthington the Third," Jean replied, and giggled. Her laughter filled Warren with warmth, and he basked in it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

They began walking in step through the crowded halls toward Warren's locker. This was not the first time they'd played this faux-formal game, and meeting in the halls before leaving together was quickly becoming a daily ritual.

"It's the weekend now," Warren began.

"It is?" Jean gasped in mock surprise. "Why Mister Worthington - I decided on this one because saying 'the Third' every time is just . . ."

It was Warren's turn to laugh before he continued. "Not only do we not have school, but there's also this carnival, festival, fair thing this weekend."

"Is there?" Jean breathed, her eyes widened in fake ignorance.

This was the part Warren had felt nervous about, but there was no turning back now. "I was wondering . . . would you like to go?"

Jean looked away thoughtfully for a moment. "Just in general, or . . . ?"

Warren chuckled at himself. "Tonight. With me."

Jean turned back to him with a look of comedically overblown surprise. "Why, Mister Worthington! Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"

Warren laughed again good naturedly. "Seriously?"

Jean abandoned her performance. "Seriously. Sounds fun! Leave from the Institute tonight at seven?"

"It's a date," Warren smiled, hoping the risk he'd just taken with that phrase paid off.

Jean's eyes narrowed at him conspiratorially. "Oh, I'll be the judge of that." And she smiled.

* * *

The sights, sounds, and smells of the carnival bombarded their senses. Flashing lights, savory fried foods, screams and peals of laughter. Warren was enjoying himself - even if the date had hit something of a snag.

"A veritable cacophony of humanity," Hank mused aloud.

Warren rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He was mildly agitated that Hank and Pietro had invited themselves along on his date. He hadn't presented it as a date to them when he requested to leave the Institute that night. Warren wasn't sure how the others would respond to the idea of him going on a date with Jean. What's more, he definitely didn't feel comfortable broaching the subject with the Professor yet.

"Mmm, funnel cakes," Jean whispered as they walked past a particularly fragrant eatery.

"Do we want to stop for some?" Warren inquired, hinting at this being a date. He was worried that thread may get dropped with their two extra wheels.

"We just got here!" Pietro griped. "Let's do something fun! Let's ride some rides!"

"You can move at superhuman speed and you want to ride rides?" Warren challenged.

Pietro shrugged. "It's different."

Pietro started to slide through the crowd of people, sliding through with inhuman quickness.

"Oh dear," Hank sighed, shoving into the crowd after Pietro. Warren and Jean exchanged a look before following after them.

They rode several rides that spun and tossed them about. Warren screamed as they were whipped around, but Jean reacted only with peals of joyous laughter. Her mouth opened wide with mirth, and her eyes teared up from the laughter and the wind. Warren was enthralled.

After a few rides, Pietro seemed ironically to be the only one who was unimpressed. They agreed to take a break from thrill rides for a while, and Jean and Warren took the opportunity to snag a funnel cake to share.

The crowd, the lights, and the smells were cacophonous, and the group took a moment to simply wander. Warren disposed of the paper plate that had held the sweet and savory funnel cake, licking his sticky fingers, and a sign near the refuse bin caught his attention.

"The Immovable Blob!" proclaimed the banner. Normally Warren would hardly have noticed the advertisement at all, or would have brushed it off, but something made him linger to read it. It proclaimed a show with unbelievable feats of strength and resilience around the cartoonish picture of a huge man.

Warren waved the others over and drew their attention to the outlandish claims made on the poster. The Blob was said to be impervious to harm, possess superhuman strength, and be literally immovable.

Warren turned to the group, eyebrow raised. "Are you guys thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Assuming these claims are not hyperbolic, I suspect we have a mutant in our midst," Hank replied.

"I guess we should go see the show," Jean smiled.

They followed the directions printed on the signs to the nearby show area. It was near the outer edge of the fair, and the actual staging area was largely obscured from the rest of the fair by the metal bleachers into which the group filed.

They were looking down on a grassless ring maybe 30 yards across. There were a few trailers and mobile structures across a muddy expanse, opposite from the bleachers, which likely formed a backstage area for the crew of the show. The start time for the performance was just minutes away, but the stands were only sparsely populated; Warren and the others were able to get good seats without being particularly close to any other spectators.

"You don't truly believe the star of a silly carnival show is secretly a mutant, do you?" Pietro grumbled.

"Says the guy who can move, like, three times faster than the average human," countered Warren humorously.

Pietro rolled his eyes and sat back against the bleachers, arms crossed and foot bouncing impatiently.

They didn't have long to wait before the start of the show, and no more spectators trickled into the largely empty stands.

A short, portly man man shuffled from behind one of the mobile trailers, waddling like a penguin through the mud. He held a mic in his hand and, once he'd sloshed his way to the middle of the arena, he held it up to his mouth.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen," his voice echoed across the metal bleachers. He sounded faux-excited, fatigue or disinterest seeping a little too much into his tone. "Tonight, you will witness the incredible, the unbelievable, the indescribable human Blob."

Scattered applause greeted his declaration, and the man shuffled away as suddenly and unceremoniously as he'd appeared. The arena went quiet as the spectators waited for the appearance of the titular attraction.

The silence stretched for several moments. A murmur ran through the crowd, and Warren shared a look of confusion with Jean, who shrugged in response.

A loud noise broke the strange silence, and Warren's eyes widened as he saw the centermost trailer slowly rising into the air. It was clearly being lifted up by something holding the far edge, and as it rose higher into the air, a monstrous figure was revealed.

He was a massive, hulking, beast of a man. Blob was a truly fitting name, as his silhouette was large enough for two or maybe even three grown men. While he was of only average height, his body was wide. He would have looked obese, except that his form seemed strong and firm.

He took two steps forward with the entire trailer foisted above his head. Warren squirmed in his seat, straining to see cables pulling the trailer up from above, or mechanical arms holding it up from behind. Even his sharp eyes saw nothing up but the man's two arms.

With a loud grunt, the man let the trailer slam into the mud beside him. He raised his hands above his head, this time in a sign of triumph.

The penguin man appeared again. "Ladies and gentlemen: The Blob!"

Applause and hoots of amazement sounded around Xavier's group, though they themselves remained silent. They were alternating between staring in disbelief at the arena and at each other.

"Lest my eyes deceive me, I believe that man lifted an entire trailer above his head," Hank remarked.

"Even you couldn't lift something that heavy, could you, beast boy?" Pietro quipped. His usual sarcastic dig was muted by his distracted stare at the massive man.

"I couldn't see anything helping him lift it," added Warren. "I think he really did it on his own."

Jean looked at them all intently. "Well boys, it looks like we've got a mutant on our hands."

The show was short but shocking. After lifting the trailer, the next act saw several assistants appear around Blob with guns.

"Now don't be too alarmed," the penguin man assured the crowd. "These guns only have rubber bullets. But it's for your protection, not his. The Blob fears no bullet!"

They proceeded to fire multiple shots directly at the Blob while surrounding him. Loud, ear-splitting cracks filled the air for long seconds as four men unloaded round after round at the Blob. Warren flinched through the noise but could see that the bullets had hit home. They lodged into the Blob's form, seeming almost to be absorbed by his skin.

When the bullets finally stopped flying, all the men retreated from around the Blob. He let out a loud, theatrical grunt and thrust his belly forward. As he did, rubber bullets shot out from him in all directions, landing several feet away in a ring around him.

"This guy is unreal," Warren whispered to himself. "Super strength and invulnerable to bullets."

"Imagine this guy going through the Danger Room," Jean joked.

"I'd kind of like to see that," Warren replied, and realized that he wasn't joking.

The next act of the show was actually the last. While the show had been advertised to have a short running time, Warren was still surprised at how quickly it was ending. Though, in fairness, it had held enough amazement for several show's worth.

Incredibly, the final act promised even more amazement than the previous two. After a brief introduction, a massive monster truck rumbled forth from behind the remaining trailers.

"The Blob not only has the strength of ten men and invulnerability to bullets, but when he sets his mind to it, he cannot be moved."

Warren sat forward in his seat, in disbelief about what seemed to be about to happen. Were they really going to try and run over the Blob?

As if in answer to his unspoken question, the engine of the truck revved deafeningly. The Blob turned to face it casually, showing no signs of fear.

The massive wheels of the vehicle spun, sending a spray of mud in its wake as it raced toward the Blob. Blob watched unflinchingly, his feet set in a wide, solid stance. With a deafening crash, the truck rammed into the Blob - and came to an abrupt halt. The engine roared and the giant wheels spun as the truck pressed against the Blob, but, despite the mud, the massive man didn't even move an inch.

With a grunt, The Blob slowly raised the truck off of the ground, its wheels spinning helplessly in midair. He slowly turned himself to face the other direction, monster truck in tow, planted his feet, and then gently set the truck back down.

The show seemingly completed, the monster truck gave a few honks and then rolled in reverse away from the Blob and back behind the trailers. Blob turned to face the audience, raised his fists in the air, and let out a guttural battle cry.

"The amaaaaazing Blob!" cried the penguin man, to applause and scattered cheering from the crowd. Warren nearly joined into the cheering himself, and would have if he hadn't still been quieted by shock.

The brief show now over, people began to file out of the stands. Warren and the others sat still; they each seemed to be recovering from the unexpected show.

"So that guy is definitely a mutant," Jean said.

"The question at hand is: How do we react?" wondered Hank.

They sat in silence for a moment before Warren spoke up. "I guess we should invite him to join Xavier's mansion."

"Is that okay, though?" Jean asked. "Is it - like, an open admission thing? Is Xavier cool with just taking any number of new students at random times?"

"Would he even be interested?" Pietro added.

Warren thought for a moment before speaking up. "We might as well give him the option."

They all agreed with this course of action and made their way down the bleachers to the squishy mud below. It squelched and sucked at their shoes as the strode unsteadily across the scored, soggy earth toward the trailers across the field.

They were greeted by burly men, arms crossed and faces unwelcoming. "You kids lost?" one of the men asked.

"Uh . . .my good sirs," Hank said, stepping forward, "we hail from a haven for gifted individuals, and we think your - er - Blob would be an exceptional addition to our fold."

The men stared back at them implacably. "Blob ain't interested in going nowhere."

"Could we - could we just talk to him?" Jean ventured.

Their faces were unchanged. "Blob doesn't meet with fans. No matter how pretty they might be."

Jean's face reddened and twisted in indignation. She opened her mouth to speak but Warren laid a cautioning hand on her arm. "Sorry, sir," he said. "That's fine with us."

Warren turned to walk away, his hand still gently resting on Jean's arm, imploring her to follow him. She did, and Hank and Pietro fell in step behind them.

Once they were far enough away from the guards, Jean spoke up. "What are we doing, just walking away like this?"

"I'm sorry, Jean," Warren replied. "There was just no way those guys were going to let us through."

"We could have talked them into it. Or, you know, _convinced_ them."

"If you're insinuating what I think you are, I suspect that the Professor would not approve," said Hank.

"But," Warren interjected before Jean could respond, "there's a third option. Where we just go around those guys entirely."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Jean asked, striking a defiant, skeptical pose with one hand resting on her hip.

Warren flashed her a conspiratorial smile. "They might be guarding the entrances, but I doubt they're watching the sky."

The fair was set up in a large field ringed by trees, and it was in one such copse of trees along the edge of the fair that Warren found seclusion enough to doff his civilian garb. Jean was with him, whilst Hank and Pietro had gone back to loiter near the entrance to the Blob's arena. Since they could both move quickly, they would serve as Warren's backup if anything went awry.

Slipping from his shirt, Warren squirmed as the cool night air caressed his bare skin. He handed his shirt to Jean, feeling exposed and awkward with her babysitting his clothes like this. Likewise, she seemed to be carefully keeping her gaze away from his exposed torso.

He unlatched the harness holding his wings close to his body, breathing an involuntary sigh of relief as the pressure lifted. He stretched his wings out, feeling the numb, tingly sensation akin to a limb that's fallen asleep.

Jean tried initially to avert her gaze from his wings in the same way that she had from his body, but she soon found herself mesmerized by them. Warren could see her uncertainty and embarrassment and decided to speak up.

"It's okay. You can look at them."

Jean laughed self-consciously. "Was I that obvious?"

"Were you trying to be subtle?" Warren asked playfully, a goofy grin spreading across his face.

Jean shook her head, smiling. She paused, taking him in now without reservation. He had his wings stretched out wide to either side of him. "They really are . . . magnificent."

A mix of pride and self-consciousness roiled within Warren under Jean's gaze. "Thanks," he said, feeling awkward. "Well . . . I'd better get going."

"Yeah," she agreed, and averted her gaze once more. Warren felt that the night somehow grew colder.

Turning to face the direction of the Blob's arena, he flapped his wings. His feet lifted easily off the ground, and the earth fell away from him as he soared to the sky. He took in the sights of the fair now far below him before zeroing in on his target.

He glided silently down toward the Blob's trailers. The stands had cleared fully and the men standing guard were nowhere to be seen, but Warren proceeded with caution nonetheless.

Warren spotted Blob sitting on a bench, eating a sandwich. He seemed to be alone.

His wings made no sound as he slowed his descent over Blob's head. He lowered himself into Blob's field of vision with his wings outstretched and his body held serenely in a relaxed, upright position. Blob noticed him just before his feet met Blob's eyeline, and partially chewed sandwich dripped from his gaping mouth as Warren alighted.

"Good evening - uh - Blob," Warren said. He kicked himself for losing his mystique immediately by sounding like an idiot.

Blob shut his mouth, his face changing to one of skepticism and scrutiny. "Who are you, my guardian angel?"

Warren had to laugh at that as he pulled his wings into a more comfortable position for standing. "My name is Warren."

Blob eyed him warily for a few moments. "Fred," he replied.

"We - uh - we saw your show," Warren continued.

"Who's we?" Fred asked.

"My - uh - friends and I. Your show . . . you're a mutant, aren't you?"

Fred smirked at him. "Like you."

"Wha-" Warren started, forgetting that he was standing with his wings visible. "Oh. Right. Yes."

"I figured you were either my guardian angel or a mutant. Second option seemed more likely."

"Well . . . as I was saying, my friends and I saw your show. You have amazing abilities."

Fred smirked, though his eyes remained wary. "So, what, you're here for an autograph?"

"Not exactly." Warren cleared his throat. "My friends and I actually all come from a school. A school for mutants."

Fred's eyebrow raised at this.

Warren continued. "Our teacher helps us learn to control our mutant powers, so that we can live safely among regular people. So that when normal humans really start to learn about mutants, we'll be able to show them that there's nothing to be afraid of."

Fred stared at him quietly. Warren wasn't sure what else to say, and a silence stretched between them. Finally, Fred broke the quiet. "So you're, like, the school mascot?"

Warren flushed, annoyance creeping over him. Fred's cavalier attitude was starting to wear thin. "No, I'm one of the students."

"What's it to me?"

"I'm asking you to join us!" Warren snapped, wincing that it had come out more angrily than he'd have liked.

Fred stared at him for only a brief moment before he broke into loud laughter. His eyes closed, his hands on his stomach, he guffawed for several seconds as Warren's frustration grew.

"What's so funny?" he said at last.

Fred's laughter faded as he swiped a finger across the edge of each eye. "Why would I want to join you?"

Now Warren felt positively baffled. Was he not making sense? "I just told you. The school is a safe-haven for mutants like you. We learn how to control our powers so we can stay safe."

Fred stood up from his stool. Warren was a little surprised at just how imposing his figure was now that he was standing before him. Warren's wings flexed unconsciously.

"I can control my powers just fine. I can keep myself safe. And I've got bodyguards, to boot. I don't need anyone's help just because I'm a mutant. I don't want to hide away in some school. I'm having fun doing what I do."

"It's not about fun," countered Warren heatedly. "We live together in this school to keep us safe. Humans are starting to figure out that mutants exist, and they've already acted with fear and violence toward people with visible mutations." He held back a grimace at that last part, but this wasn't about him. "Mutants will be public knowledge soon, and having a place to stay safe, to learn how to protect ourselves, to learn how to use our powers to change people's minds - that's what this is all about."

"Yeah, well, that's nice and all. But I've got a visible mutation, and people don't seem to care."

Warren opened his mouth to argue that Blob's visible mutation could easily be written off, but Blob continued.

"In fact, people seem to like me. My show might not sell out stadiums, but it's successful enough to keep going, and to get me some guard duty. Why would I want to hide away in some school somewhere? I'm not afraid of the humans - they like me. And they couldn't hurt me even if they tried. I like the crowds. I like when they cheer. I'm not going to give that up to go hide somewhere."

Warren couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I really don't think you're seeing the bigger picture -"

"I really don't think you're listening," Blob cut him off. "And I don't think you're going to say anything else to me. You've said what you wanted, and I gave you my answer. It's time for you to go."

Warren's face was hot with frustration. He was surprised to find that he was angry at Blob's rejection. He dithered, torn between a desire to press on or a desire to spitefully rescind the invitation.

He remembered his father taking him to various business deals in his youth. He had learned that, when things were not going his way, sometimes it was best to walk away. Maybe you would be giving up on what you wanted, but maybe they would come around. Pressing the issue in these moments could do more harm than good.

Warren sighed, releasing his momentary anger. He spread his wings to rise into the air, but paused. He thought of the Professor, of the fervor of his dream and of his unassuming manner. Perhaps there was a way to make him proud still.

"Fred," he said, "I'm sorry you aren't interested. But just know that the offer stands if you ever change your mind."

Warren could see that Fred was ready with another sarcastic retort, but then he shut his mouth, letting his stubbornly set face speak for him.

Flapping his wings, Warren lifted from the ground. As he rose into the sky, the cool wind brushing across his chest and shoulders and tousling his hair, he smiled. Fred had stopped himself from a sardonic reply, and Warren decided that he would take that as a victory.

The chill of fall engulfed him as he reached the apex of his ascent. He fixed his gaze on the copse of trees where Jean waited for him to return. He could see her through the breaks in the leaves, and his stomach fluttered nervously at the thought of telling her that he'd failed. He flapped lightly, hovering in place, dreading the disappointment on her face.

Jaw clenched in dread and anticipation, Warren slowly descended toward Jean. She looked up as he appeared above her, her face breaking into a smile that seemed to radiate its own light. For a moment, the butterflies in Warren's stomach fluttered for a different reason. Grim anticipation returned as he alighted on the soft ground.

"Well," Jean said expectantly, "how did it go?"

Warren sighed. "Not great."

Jean's smile morphed to a face of compassionate worry. "What happened?"

Warren shrugged, both shoulders and wings rising and falling in unison. "I made him an offer and he wasn't interested."

Jean considered this; it seemed that she could tell that Warren hadn't said all he could on the subject.

"He was kind of rude about it," Warren continued. "He wasn't interested, and he kind of made fun of the whole idea."

"Well that's not cool."

Warren laughed despite himself. "You're right. It wasn't."

They started walking back toward the fairgrounds, and Jean said, "You try to help a guy out and he's rude to you."

"Yeah. But, for him, he didn't feel like he needed help. He said he was happy to be where he is."

Jean didn't immediately respond. "Hmm. I guess that's good, then." Worry slid from her face as she flashed another brilliant smile at him. "We should all be so lucky, not to need a place to learn about our powers and stay safe."

Her smile was infectious. "I guess you're right." He paused. "It does kind of suck, though. I mean, it doesn't feel very good."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . I don't know how to explain it. I guess I felt really invested in the idea of offering him help, and when he laughed at the idea, it . . . it kind of made me feel like a failure."

Jean put a hand on his arm, turning him to face her. "No way. You're not a failure just because that guy doesn't feel like he needs us. You made him an offer of help, you revealed your mutation to him, you - you made yourself vulnerable to this stranger. You're not a failure. You're brave."

She leaned in and lightly kissed his cheek. It felt like a bolt of electricity coursed through his body at her touch. His face was hot, and it was an eternal moment before he managed to move again to follow her out of the woods to join the others.

* * *

Fred Dukes sat alone, wondering at the unexpected visitor he'd had.

A winged boy descending from the skies to offer him a home and a family. With those giant wings, the boy had been practically angelic. If Fred had been religious, he probably would have had a harder time turning the guy away, even after realizing he was simply a fellow mutant rather than a divine messenger.

Strangely, Fred felt a sort of loneliness now that he was once again by himself. He couldn't recall this feeling before. Had entertaining the thought of joining this school, however briefly, really had such an effect?

Shaking his head, he tried to clear those feelings away. He'd never felt unhappy with his current situation - and he wasn't about to start now. He was happy where he was. He didn't need to learn to control his powers, because he already could. He didn't need a group of fellow mutants, because he already had his fellow carnival workers. He didn't need their team environment, because he didn't want to share the spotlight.

He liked being the Blob. He had no illusions about the level of fame he'd attained, but that didn't change the fact that he was starring in his very own show, a show that was named after him. He was making something of himself. And who could say what doors his modest carnival fame might open for him in the future?

Basking in future dreams, Fred didn't notice the man behind him until he spoke.

"Good evening, Frederick."

An involuntary yelp of surprise escaped his lips as he spun around to face this new intruder.

The man had curled brown hair that swept back over his ears, falling down to around his jawline, and extending to his face as trimmed mutton chops. His style seemed to Fred like something from a boring British tv show.

"Who are you?" Fred demanded, trying to regain some of his composure.

"A messenger," the man replied cryptically.

Fred didn't like it when people weren't straight with him. Plus, despite momentary feelings of isolation following his previous visitor, he wasn't a fan of these people dropping in unexpectedly. Especially since this guy presumably didn't fly over his guards' heads.

"I already sent the last guy away. I'm not interested in joining your school, and I'm not in the mood for more visitors." Fred punctuated this with a threatening step toward the man.

Seemingly unphased, the man continued. "I'm not affiliated with your previous visitor." He raised an eyebrow. "A school, you say?"

Fred was decidedly not enjoying the man's intentionally mysterious air. "Look, I don't know who you are or what you want, but you've got about five seconds before I toss you outta here."

The man sat, still looking relaxed and immune to Fred's attempt to menace him. "I'm not affiliated with your previous visitor, though you could argue that my proposition is similar." He paused, staring coolly at Fred. Several seconds passed in silence, and Fred realized he was not making good on his threat. Inexplicably, Fred found himself curious about this new mystery man.

"I understand that you want more out of your life," the man continued. "You want to make a difference. You want people to know you for your deeds. I think we can make those dreams a reality."

Fred stared at him in silence. He hated to admit it, after the threats he'd made, but the man had his interest.

"What I offer," said the man, "is a chance to be part of a group, yes, but a group that wants you to shine. We don't want to hide you away. You have incredible abilities that you use to wow and amaze audiences every day. We want to give you the chance to show off your unbelievable abilities to the entire world."

"The world, huh?" Fred repeated. Images of flashing lights and the sound of roaring crowds overwhelmed his sense as he basked in the possibilities. Shaking himself from his momentary reverie, he put an obstinate look back on his face. "Sounds pretty good, but why would I join the group of a guy whose name I don't even know?"

The man chuckled at that, nodding appreciatively. "A fair point, Frederick. My name is Jason Wyngarde. And as I mentioned, I'm not the leader, just the messenger."

He paused, a triumphant grin on his face. He could see that Fred's interest had won out.

"The word group isn't right, either, I think. A more fitting term would be brotherhood."

* * *

Next Time: Brotherhood!


	4. The Beast

Chloee0x0 and Le Faucon Bleu, thank you for your kind reviews. if you enjoy this chapter, let me know!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Xavier, a powerful telepath, has gathered five mutant teenagers to his Institute to protect them and teach them to use their powers. Warren asks Jean on a date, but it is derailed when they discover another mutant named The Blob. Warren invites him to join the Xavier Institute, but the offer is rejected. However, a mysterious man approaches The Blob afterward with a similar offer to join a brotherhood . . .

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **4**

 **The Beast**

Hank's heart sank as he opened his locker and saw a folded piece of paper perched haphazardly atop his belongings.

A dark look crossed his face as he slowly unfolded the sheet. He was unsurprised to find a hastily scrawled message on the inside: _This school is for students, not Beasts_.

He grimaced and crumpled the paper into a ball without a second glance. This was the second such note he'd received just this week, on top of the many he'd received in weeks preceding. The notes contributed to a mounting sense of isolation - a feeling which was not new for him.

Growing up, Hank's parents had been distant. Hank's mutation had been evident from birth - an apparent rarity, as most mutations manifested during puberty - and his parents had never known how to react. He wasn't mentally or physically handicapped; he was just different. Off.

Hank knew his father blamed himself for the mutation. He had worked at a nuclear plant and worried that exposure to radiation had been the cause of Hank's deformity. When Professor Charles Xavier showed up one day to explain to them the existence of mutants, Hank thought that his father would finally be able to forgive himself. He expected forge a renewed relationship with his parents. Instead, they had been only too eager for Charles to whisk Hank away from their rural Illinois home to an estate somewhere in far away New York.

Being at Xavier's had certainly helped alleviate the feelings of isolation and insecurity, but he still felt the weight of his physical difference. All of Xavier's students were within the same age range, but Hank stuck out from the rest like a sore thumb. He could easily be mistaken to be several years older than he was, and consequently didn't look like he belonged in the same peer group as the rest of them. What's more, of the five of them, only Scott and Warren also had visible indications of their mutation. And unlike him, those mutations could be hidden using implements or waved away with doctor's notes.

Overall, though, Xavier's Institute had turned out to be a blessing: A beautiful, massive estate, a mansion to live in, a peer group of fellow mutants. His feelings of isolation started to diminish, slowly but surely. But it wasn't until he'd joined the football team that he started to truly feel a sense of belonging.

The name "The Beast" had originated as a sign of affection. Hank was abnormally large, hairy, muscular, and strong for his age. He truly did have a certain bestial quality. It was the reason he'd been able to rocket from an unknown freshmen to starting on the varsity football team. His imposing form had inspired awe in his teammates and fear in their rivals. His teammates had slapped his back and said he was a beast, and the nickname had been born.

Unfortunately, it wasn't long before the name began to take on a more negative connotation. Admittedly, he shouldn't have been surprised that there would be some who would resent his overnight success. It was likely that his place at the top of the roster had pushed out someone else who had been expecting the position for years.

Hank had to remind himself that success always met resistance. Thinkers like Galileo and Nikola Tesla had met with much harsher critics in their time, and they were engaged in pursuits which were inarguably more important than local high school football. And yet Hank found little relief in these reminders.

At least their derision was mitigated by ignorance of why, exactly, he was able to succeed athletically. While he allowed everyone around him to believe he'd simply had an unnatural growth spurt, he had of course actually gotten his size and strength due to his mutation. What's more, the strength, speed, and agility that he displayed on the football field was nowhere near his true potential, which actually exceeded that of even the most skilled athletes.

The very existence of mutants was still largely unknown to the general populace. There were fearful rumors of people with strange powers and stories of unbelievable occurrences. The word mutant had slowly begun to appear in such accounts, but the tales were still relatively rare, and the average person's reaction was to place mutants in the same company with UFOs and Bigfoot.

Unfortunately for Hank, despite people not knowing him to be a mutant, he had still managed to draw their ire for it. The derogatory notes had begun only a week or so after the nickname was originally coined, and had only increased in frequency. Most of them were relatively simple, essentially serving to remind him of the ill will they felt. But some of them were truly vile in their sentiment, or downright threatening.

One pioneering bully had even managed to swipe from the library a copy of "The Beast from the East", part of a children's book series by R. L. Stine, and left it waiting for him to find on his desk in one of his classes. Hank didn't think the blue-furred creature on the cover was very amusing.

Sighing to himself, he hoisted his backpack on his shoulder, closed his locker, and tossed the crumpled note in the trash as he made his way to the locker room for football practice.

Practice had been heating up lately. The homecoming game was fast approaching, and Coach had been pushing them much harder than usual. Hank thought she already gave them a pretty strenuous workout normally, judging from the strain and exhaustion he tried to emulate on the faces of his teammates, but she had noticeably amped up the intensity. One of Hank's teammates had even commented on how impressive it was that he'd been able to adapt to the heightened intensity, and Hank had shrugged it off and made a mental note to play up his feigned exhaustion more for subsequent practices.

Today's practice continued this trend. They ran plays, scrimmaged, conditioned, and by the end, even the most seasoned players gratefully sprawled in the grass to gasp great gulps of air. Hank allowed himself to appear nearly as fatigued as they.

They went to shower off in the locker room, a ritual the embarrassment and awkwardness of which could only be eclipsed by that of not participating in it at all. Hank had gotten used to showering amongst his peers and no longer felt shy around them. But part of the ritual was yelling good natured jabs and insults at one another for the duration of the shower, and he'd begun increasingly dreading it. Even those who seemed to genuinely still like Hank would tease him for his nigh-animalistic form and stature, or for his silly shower shoes.

While Hank's stature could be hand-waved away, the only solution for his ape-like feet had been concealment. These shoes had been specially designed for him by an associate of Professor Xavier's after Hank had demanded them.

Initially, the Professor countered his request, suggesting that Hank simply leave school and shower at home. Hank had done so out of necessity but had swiftly learned the error of his ways. To not shower with the team was a mark of cowardice, an indication of something to hide, a strike against one's very masculinity. This was made abundantly clear to Hank, immediately and unequivocally. That very day, he returned to Xavier again and would not relent until Xavier agreed to his terms. Shortly thereafter, Hank had his shoes and was able to join the group.

Of course, explaining away shower shoes proved nearly as difficult as explaining his absence in the first place. Hank's cover story - that he had an incurable and highly contagious foot-fungus - forestalled any requests for him to remove the shoes, but seemed only to fuel the flames of his teammate's mild mockeries. Hank almost felt that it would've been easier just to reveal that he had feet like an ape.

One teammate had idly jested that, with Hank's feet and Scott's eyes, something must be wrong with Xavier's students. Hank was terrified that his ridiculous shower shoes would be the inadvertent undoing of them all. Afraid to make a false move, Hank froze, unable to muster a retort. Thankfully, another teammate stepped in to defending Warren and Jean (a friend and love interest, respectfully) as normal teenagers. While not relieving Hank of the personal burden brought on by his own mutation, it seemed to thankfully absolve his housemates in the eyes of his peers.

Outside the focused and disciplined field of practice, any gathering of the varsity football players was a raucous event. There was always name calling and jests at one another's expense for everyone in attendance. Along with towel snapping and hyperbolic boasting, Hank thought wryly that it couldn't be a more stereotypical bunch of high school boys. He did, however, take solace in the fact that everyone was the target of some joke at their expense, even if his occasionally seemed more sincere. He even took part in lobbing pointed but good-natured jabs at his compatriots.

Today's shower was no different, except that Hank's heart just wasn't in it. While the others laughed and joked and tousled, Hank found himself unable to fully participate. Every joke, even those directed at others, reminded him of the note he'd found only hours earlier. And while teasing in this setting was generally gentle compared to the more sincere jabs of his secret detractors, the cacophony of jokes and slurs at his expense had all started to blend together over time into a single, hateful din, devoid of original intent

Hank was young, but he was no fool. Members of the football team were the ones most likely to feel slighted by his prominence on the team. They were the ones who had the greatest incentive to bully him in retaliation. There was little doubt that the culprit who'd started it all was in the room with him right now.

He found himself searching the faces of his teammates. While they smiled and laughed and joked with one another, he couldn't shake the sense that there was some dark motive beneath an innocent grin.

He felt a pressure building in his chest, felt that he might snap at the next joke, regardless of its intended victim. He was becoming agitated and paranoid. He didn't want to have an emotional outburst, so he quietly slipped to the edge of the group, doing his best to keep quiet and unseen.

He simply couldn't muster himself to be involved in the group dynamic today. He knew too much. Many people his age would never believe that their perceived friends could hide sincere resentment, but Hank had learned from an early age that the appearance of affection did not indicate its truth.

He had been burying his head at night in Shakespeare's complete works, and it was to this refuge that he now turned his thoughts. The play he was currently reading, Othello, had intrigued him with the craftiness of its villain, Iago, and how easily the protagonist, Othello, had been taken in by his machinations. Iago's malice managed to twist a fabricated misunderstanding into a deadly tragedy, turning Othello himself into a villain. Hank sometimes felt like the notes in his locker were from his own personal Iago, trying to warp his perception of his friends, to see them suddenly as villainous and false when most of them likely had no ill will toward him.

The idea that Hank's tormentors could successfully gaslight him into turning on those around him felt so farfetched that he almost laughed. Almost, had that very thing not been about to happen moments ago.

Feeling foolish, he abandoned his reverie and realized that he must have truly blocked out his surroundings, as he found himself alone in the shower. He could hear some of his teammates laughing and lockers opening and closing in the dressing area around the corner.

He hurriedly finished washing himself and shut off the water. As he was wrapping a towel around himself, one of his teammates, Victor, poked his head around the corner.

"You alright in there?" he asked. "We thought you fell in."

Hank laughed good-naturedly. "I'm fine. Just . . . distracted."

"Alright, man, just had to check. Homecoming game's coming up. We wouldn't want to lose our Beast." He winked, and was gone.

Hank stood rooted to the spot for several long moments. He couldn't recall Victor ever using that moniker before. Victor had been one of Hank's first friends on the team, and had always been friendly and supportive. At the same time, he was known as a prankster and was a pro at the jests that would fly back and forth among teammates.

Could his friendship all have been an act? Was he one of the culprits behind Hank's torment, or even the progenitor of his backhanded nickname?

He reminded himself of his resolve from only moments before, no longer to feel suspicious of his fellows, to give them the benefit of the doubt and let the insults of some faceless, jealous peers roll off his back. But confronting this new suspicion, he was having a hard time convincing himself.

The noise had died down and he realized he was now truly alone in the locker room. He took his time getting dressed, dark thoughts roiling in his mind like storm clouds. When he finally left the changing area, he walked out into the darkness of night.

Xavier's school was nearby, and Hank usually walked home after practice, often with some teammates who lived in the same direction. Then, once he made it onto the grounds of the mansion and away from prying eyes, he would cut loose with his mutant abilities. He would spring into the trees and swing from branch to branch, exalting in the sensation and the freedom.

Tonight, however, he still felt himself to be in a foul mood. The thought of going home and having to interact with the Professor or his classmates was repulsive. He needed some time alone with his thoughts.

He walked idly, paying no attention to where he was going, and soon found that he had wandered onto the football field.

The lights that would shine on him during football games were off, and the long field was dark and swathed in shadow. Fall was chill in the air, and Hank shivered despite himself.

He realized he'd shivered only partly due to the temperature. He felt strangely spooked by the creeping darkness of the deserted field. He shook his head to clear away the irrational fear, tried to laugh at how silly he was being, but he couldn't rid himself of the lurking unease he felt.

 _Clang!_

 _What was that?!_

Hank spun around to face the hollow, metallic noise he'd just heard behind him. All he saw was the yellow steel goal post rising up before him, casting its pitch-black shadow over him, bathing him in darkness.

His heart hammered in his chest and a cold sweat had broken out from the surge of adrenaline. But, of course, there was no one there. Why would there be?

"Hello, Henry."

Hank yelped in surprise, staggering back in shock. His gaze shot up the goalpost and - there was someone there!

A figure sat atop the goalpost, staring down at him. The being was crouched low, hunched down nearly to his haunches with his legs spread to either side, supporting him effortlessly on the thin posts. He was a dark silhouette against the night sky, the moonlight shining from behind him obscuring his features.

Hank's eyes adjusted swiftly to the light, and he was able to make out some of the man's features. He had stringy, longish hair falling down to around his ears, with a bulbous nose and wide mouth below big, round eyes.

Now that he'd caught his breath, Hank spoke. "Who are you?"

"My name's Toad."

Hank was incredulous his name was actually Toad. As if in response to his doubts, Toad effortlessly sprang up into the air, launching himself from the goalpost and arcing over Hank's head to land with a muted thud on the field.

On his feet. Like it was nothing.

"See? I can jump, like a toad. Strong legs to leap and land, ha ha!"

At this angle, Hank could now see him clearer in the light of the moon. Toad's face was pockmarked, and his skin seemed almost to have a slight, sickly green tinge to it - though that could just be a trick of the light. Now that they were close, Hank also thought he could smell a faint unpleasant odor, like the stench of a sewer.

"Strange place to be wandering around alone," Toad remarked, sauntering about casually. Hank noticed that Toad had an accent, a cockneyed British slang. And Toad wasn't a grown man, but seemed to be a boy around Hank's own age.

"Who are you?" Hank reiterated. He squared his shoulders and his jaw, trying his best to look stern and imposing.

"Toad. I told you." He smiled. "I've been watching you."

"You - what?"

Toad shrugged. "We'll, _we've_ been watching you."

"We? Who is we?"

"My associates and I." Toad laughed quietly like he'd made a clever joke. "We're mutants. You probably got that much from my jump there."

Hank felt a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. "What does that have to do with me?"

Toad shrugged. "You're a mutant, too. Well, not just you, of course. Let's see," he ticked them off on his fingers, "there's the red head. The boy with the glasses. The blonde one with the wings. And the speedster."

Hank's blood ran cold. He felt as though he'd been struck dumb. How could Toad know all of this? He knew all five of them, and even had a sense for some of their abilities.

He was still debating on what he could possibly say to deflect Toad, to convince him that none of this was true, when Toad continued. "We mutants have it rough. People out there are starting to wise up about us, and they don't like it. We have to stick together. It's us against them."

Hank was still reeling, but he shook his head nonetheless. "That's not true. Just because they're afraid of us doesn't mean they're our enemies." He winced as he realized that he'd implicitly admitted to being a mutant, thereby indicating the other Xavier students.

Toad laughed. "You don't think so? Then why doesn't anyone at this school know you're a mutant?"

Hank glared at him in response. Partially because this guy knew way too much about him, and partially because he had no good answer.

Sensing his advantage, Toad inched closer to Hank until they were face to face. His breath smelled like rotting garbage. "Do you honestly believe that if these _humans_ " - he spat the word like a curse - "knew the truth about you and your friends, that they wouldn't come after you with torches and pitchforks, like Frankenstein?"

Again, Hank felt only a seething uncertainty, an inability to truly contradict Toad. The only thought he managed to conjure was that Toad was confusing Frankenstein with Frankenstein's monster. Hank would have laughed at the absurdity of such a thought in this situation if he hadn't been so thoroughly shaken.

"You see my point," concluded Toad. "This school, this town, that Institute of yours - these are no places for you, or your friends, or anyone like us. You're not safe here. But while _your_ mentor wants you to hide among your oppressors, mine wants us to band together. He wants us to find a home for ourselves, and safety together. He is creating a Brotherhood of Mutants."

Finally, Hank's brain was able to latch onto something Toad had said. "Your mentor. Who is that?"

"Ah," Toad said, "I wouldn't do him justice." He extended his hand to Hank. "Come with me. Join us. I'll let him introduce himself."

Hank stared at the outstretched hand silently before shaking his head. "I don't think so."

Toad's friendly, inviting look faded, replaced with a simmering sneer. "Oh, come on. You know I'm right about them. Hiding out here won't do you no good, and it'll probably end up getting you killed. The Brotherhood is the only way for you to be safe, and to make sure that mutants have a future."

Hank breathed a heavy sigh. "I know they might hate us. I know it's not always going to be easy, or safe. But I don't agree with you that our way is ineffectual. I don't think what I'm doing now is giving up on a future for mutants. My 'mentor', as you call it, has a vision that I believe in. And I'm going to keep believing in it."

Toad scoffed and threw his hands up in disbelief. "So that's it, then? You're just going to take your chances? You're actually going to trust in the goodness of the humans?"

Hank could tell that they'd come to an impasse, and the only way to escape it was to simply excuse himself. "That's right. Good night, Toad." He squared his jaw, spun on his heel, and began to walk away.

He'd gone a few steps before he heard a rising cackle behind him. It carried that same sneering quality mixed with pure hilarity. "Go on, then. Go back to them. But don't think you can keep this up forever. Sooner or later, your secret will come out."

Hank just kept walking, kept his body straight to show no response. He didn't want Toad to see the unease that had crept back in after he'd begun walking away. He didn't want Toad to see how he wasn't really as sure as he tried to sound. He didn't want Toad to see how much Hank feared exactly the future he'd described.

He left the shadows of the football field, heading through the night toward home. There was more light out here on the school grounds, and along the road beyond, a warm yellow glow spilled from nearby homes to illuminate the darkness.

Nevertheless, Hank shivered again. Toad's final words still rang in his ears.

Sooner or later, the secret will come out.

Try as he might, Hank couldn't deny the likely truth beneath the warning. But there was something else, too: The sense that Toad's words had not been just a warning.

They'd also been a threat.

* * *

 **Next Time:** The big game


	5. Homecoming

Thanks to Le Faucon Bleu for your review!

If you are enjoying the story, please leave a review. I would love to hear what you like, what you anticipate, or what you would like to see!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Xavier's five students have been acclimating to his Institute, their mutant powers, and their lives as high school students. They've met a few other mutants recently, one of whom threatened Hank regarding something called the Brotherhood of Mutants. But there's no time to think about that now, with the big homecoming game on the horizon.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **5**

 **Homecoming**

"Pietro, left!"

Scott's yell was still ringing in his ears by the time he'd already turned, seen, and moved. The Danger Room seemed to blur and time seemed to slow as Pietro tapped into his superhuman speed.

Jean hadn't even noticed the bludgeon rising to strike her. In fact, there was a decent chance Scott's voice hadn't even registered in her ears yet - but Pietro was already halfway to her. He would have to move exactly right to grab her and get her out of the way without hurting her. Pietro could move fast enough to look like a blur of color to anyone watching with unenhanced vision, but interacting with someone at that speed could be dangerous.

Another thought and he was there, an arm around her waist and head, hugging her to him for support and spinning to bring them both rolling to the ground.

As he landed, the world seemed to almost lurch back into motion. This shift between his speed state and his normal state had been extremely disorienting, even nauseating at first, but he'd gotten more used to it.

Jean, wrapped in his arms, blinked in surprise. From her perspective, she must have seemed almost to teleport.

"Um. Thanks, probably?" Jean said. She hadn't seen that she was about to be hit, but by now she knew what "appearing" somewhere with Pietro meant.

"Don't mention it," Pietro replied.

Jean's grateful smile switched to a look of determination as she thrust her hand out past his back. He whipped his head around to see several bean-bags bounce harmlessly away as though they'd hit an invisible wall.

Pietro grabbed Jean and got them to their feet instantly before turning to her with a grin. "Thanks, probably."

"Warren!"

Another yell from Scott had Pietro spin to look for the source of the danger. Across the room, Warren was midair, wings spread wide. He was glowering in Pietro's direction, and so was unaware of another bludgeon swinging to hit him.

"I've got it!" Hank called. He was already midair, having leapt from one striking arm to propel him in an arc onto this one. Snagging hold of it, his weight threw it off, halting its momentum, sparing Warren from a painful strike, and preventing them from disqualification.

It had been weeks since Professor Xavier had introduced them to the Danger Room. This was a large, featureless room in the basement of the mansion. Featureless on the surface, at least; the floors, walls, and even ceilings were made of movable metal panels hiding bludgeoning arms and guns that fired pellets and beanbags.

They'd been shown the Danger Room and gotten their special jumpsuits, which were basically black leotards with a golden yellow X pattern crossing the chest. The material wasn't really leotard, but was actually some sort of durable, flexible material with strength rivaling kevlar. Pietro was sure it wasn't literally as strong as that, given its flexibility and texture, but certainly hoped never to find out firsthand.

Their first Danger Room assignment had been to make it from one end to the other, a deceptively impossible task. The Danger Room's implements didn't hurt any more than playing contact sports, but were explicitly designed to knock you off your feet and out of breath. If you got knocked down, that was the end of your attempt.

Thus far, the only one of them who had made it across the room had been Scott. Even more impressive, Scott was the only one not to have used his mutant ability. While Pietro, Warren, and Hank propelled themselves in their own ways across the room, and Jean used her telepathy as a shield, Scott had outright refused to utilize his power even once.

Supposedly, Scott's mutation caused powerful, concussive blasts of red energy to fire from his eyes. He couldn't open his eyes without firing them off, though, which was why he was always wearing some sort of special eyewear - glasses normally, or a visor during Danger Room sessions. The lenses had an intense red color, because they were made from ruby quartz, which was able to contain his eye beams.

Nobody at Xavier's mansion, with the possible exception of Xavier himself, had seen Scott unleash his optic blasts, so nobody could be sure what they were like or exactly how they worked. Pietro had half a mind to disbelieve that Scott could do it at all - except, of course, that they were at a school for mutants, so it would be stranger for him not to be able to.

They'd jokingly speculated on what his optic blasts were like, trying to goad him into talking about it or, better yet, showing them. He swiftly made it clear that he wasn't interested in discussing them or showing them to anyone, and his tone had ensured that they'd never brought it up around him again. But the mysterious quality of it and his caginess around the subject had fueled them all to gossip among themselves about what it must be like.

Pietro was sure that Scott's reluctance to discuss his mutation was related to his decision not to use it, even in the controlled environment of the Danger Room. But he'd ended up not needing it, simply using his natural human agility to dodge and weave across the room. Scott seemed to have a preternatural sense of the space around him during his Danger Room runs. Pietro had started to wonder if there was some sort of mutation involved there, too. Whatever it was, it had carried him to victory.

Once he'd made it across, the game had changed for everyone. No longer were they competing individually to cross on their own. Now, they were competing collectively to cross. Victory was fairly simple - only one of them had to make it. But if any of them failed out, the exercise ended in failure for all of them. Pietro wasn't sure if this rule was to increase their odds of at least one of them making it across, or to make things harder on Scott by giving him more to worry about.

Either way, it didn't help to dwell on that now. Jean had already started moving, and Pietro couldn't afford to get swept up into a speculative reverie about the Danger Room or the Professor's secret reasoning behind the rules of the challenge.

All he could do was run.

He turned and saw numerous obstacles rising up against them. Warren was still glowering, his gaze now directed at Scott, and Scott himself had become vulnerable. An arm reached up to smack him, and Jean thrust her hands out. Despite a distance of many feet between her and Scott, he lurched forward as though she'd pushed him. The arm whooshed past where he'd been standing.

"Thanks, Jean," Scott said. He was blushing, and seemed embarrassed for having let his guard down.

Warren swept toward them, seizing his moment. "Let's go, guys!" He wheeled easily in the air over their heads, racing toward the other side of the room.

"Warren, wait!" Jean cried, and was after him in a heartbeat. Hank bounded from the other side of the room to join him as well. Pietro zipped to Scott's side. Partially, he didn't want to leave himself or Scott alone - solitude had proven to be the single biggest guarantee of failure in these challenges. Another part of him, however, trusted Scott's relative expertise more than Warren.

Almost immediately, Scott had started forward, with Pietro keeping pace alongside him. "Warren, what are you doing?" Scott yelled.

Warren charged forward, heedless of Scott's cry. Scott had specifically directed them to split into two groups and make their way up either side of the room. He had kept himself closest to the middle to monitor both groups and call out instructions and warnings.

Pietro wasn't surprised that Warren had dismantled this strategy at his first opportunity. In the small handful of group Danger Room sessions they'd had since Scott's success, the two had disagreed on almost everything. They rarely saw eye to eye on strategy, and would generally undercut each other.

Scott seemed to have an assumptive place of precedence due to his sole success in the solo challenge, and would instantly suggest strategies. He took the role of coach or commander immediately and without thinking. Warren, on the other hand, seemed more comfortable butting in after the session had begun. While Scott would give them a heading, Warren would then step up to wrest control of the group.

Unfortunately, this generally spelled disaster, as the group would then be caught between honoring the original plan, switching to the new plan, or just trying to react in the confusion.

To Pietro's eyes, that was exactly what had just happened again. For his part, he agreed with Scott's plan on this one. It seemed that the Danger Room had trouble targeting them as well when they were spread beyond a single clump, while cutting up the middle as Warren was now doing was basically guaranteed to bring fire from all sides.

"Warren, stop!" Scott screamed again, but it was too late. The three of them were suddenly surrounded as the floor panels around them rose up into countless whirling implements and firing weapons. Jean reacted quickly, and Pietro could make out the strain on her face as she repelled some of the instruments. But Jean's telepathic strength was limited to a rough equivalent of her physical strength, and sustaining it, especially in a shield around herself and others, was extremely draining to her. She couldn't keep this up.

Sure enough, the shield came down quickly. Pietro thought it had probably only been seconds, or less, though his warped sense of time made it hard for him to be sure. Regardless, once the shield was down, there was nothing they could do. They were all three laid out within moments, and even Pietro's speed could have done nothing but add bruises to his own person.

As soon as they hit the ground, the whirring, pneumatic clamor faded and the various Danger Room implements receded. In a flash, the room had settled itself back into an empty steel box.

Scott and Pietro ran up to the other three, who were groaning and catching their breath. Scott was visibly fuming.

"Warren, what were you thinking? You can't just cut up the middle and expect to make it."

Warren coughed and sat up, his face hard and defensive. "Says you, Scott. If we'd all worked together, we could have protected ourselves."

"That's insane. You literally just tried that, and it failed. It's failed every time!"

"We could have made it."

"Warren, you didn't, and you couldn't. We have to be smart if we want to make it across."

Warren shrugged. "Maybe we just have to use our resources properly."

Pietro groaned internally, and Scott bristled. "What are you saying?"

Warren had now gotten to his feet, and stood toe to toe with Scott. "I'm saying maybe we could make it if we were all using our powers to help out."

Scott's hand balled into a fist, and Pietro genuinely thought he might strike Warren for a moment. Instead, he spun on his heel and walked stiffly toward the exit.

"Warren," Jean said in exasperation.

"What? He was being unreasonable!"

"D'you think maybe you were, too, a little?"

Pietro didn't need to listen any further. He'd seen this movie before. He was breathing hard from using his powers just now, but nevertheless, the world blurred and, seconds later, he was outside the Danger Room, steps behind Scott, who was still stalking angrily toward the changing rooms.

Pietro patted Scott on the shoulder. "Hey, Slim, don't let it get to you."

"It does get to me," Scott said.

"We'll win sooner or later."

"That's not what bugs me and you know it. Warren just does whatever he wants. If I throw out a plan, he doesn't agree or disagree. He just waits thirty seconds and does the opposite."

Pietro hadn't really thought through the conversation he might provoke, and remained uncomfortably silent as he failed to conjure a response.

Scott continued. "He has no respect. He doesn't respect me. He doesn't respect my . . . He's just - disrespectful. He's probably used to always getting whatever he wants, so he thinks it's no big deal to roll right over me. He has no idea how hard . . . He's used to getting everything. He still does, I guess."

He fell silent, and Pietro remained that way as well. Scott seemed perfectly content to have ranted, and while clearly still fuming, appeared to no longer wish to give voice his frustrations.

It was clear he was upset at being undermined in the Danger Room. Since the introduction of the Danger Room training sessions, Scott had demonstrated a certain competitive streak mixed with an affinity for developing plans of attack. Warren fancied himself as a leader, and his challenges to Scott read as transparent bids for control of the group dynamic.

But there was another layer to the frustration. Scott had acted uncharacteristically nervous and jittery around Jean ever since the day she arrived. He'd managed to rein it in somewhat, but it was still there. He would occasionally stare at her, wistfully, looking away quickly if he felt that anyone might notice.

Jean was friendly to everyone and made an effort to connect with them all, but she and Warren had taken a particular liking to one another from the start. While they all got along with each other well enough, those two in particular had quickly become very close. Pietro didn't know for sure if they had deemed themselves a couple or had any physical connection beyond the occasional friendly embrace, but he did know for sure that Scott seemed pretty jealous of their connection.

Of course, this wasn't something Scott had mentioned to him, or anyone as far as he could guess. Scott was a cagey type of person anyway, so he simply kept it to himself. And in turn, Pietro left it unsaid, too. He felt that Hank had probably noticed this dynamic as well, but it was hitherto unspoken.

Content with the brooding silence, they both entered the changing area to doff their uniforms and return to their normal selves.

* * *

Returning to school was a welcome release of the tensions they were feeling from the weekend's Danger Room session. Scott and Warren had a cold, uneasy silence between them, and Pietro was glad to see them return to their own friend circles and stop walking around each other like gunslingers.

For Pietro, school was never an exciting prospect. An unfortunate side-effect of his super-speed was that time seemed to tick by more slowly than before. His classmates would agonize over passing minutes; his agony was over seconds. A seven hour school day felt like what he remembered a week to be like before his mutation manifested.

Because of this, he often found himself feeling irritable and impatient with those around him. Everyone else seemed to be moving, talking, thinking in slow motion. In conversation, he felt like he was always waiting for people to just spit it out already. His attempts to re-adjust his expectations had yielded little comfort. He understood that this was a fault in his own perceptions, but that didn't lessen the annoyance he felt.

The compromise he struck was to channel his constant simmering frustration into light sarcasm. He could joke his way around the pain, acknowledging it but tempering it with parody. This helped a little, but the days still dragged.

This behavior had yielded him the reputation as something of a class clown. He was swift to quip in response to just about anything, and his wit read as quick even when it wasn't to him. Teachers were not necessarily fond of his sometimes cutting banter, but his peers mostly appreciated it. He found himself with a level of unexpected popularity among his classmates, known to be funny, not obnoxious.

People liked him, and knew his name, and would say hello or make friendly small-talk, but he had no close friends. His peers at Xavier's all had various friend groups at school, but Pietro's impatience with conversation made it hard for him to hold his attention on anyone long enough to establish a meaningful relationship.

There was also a part of himself that didn't want a close relationship with anyone. He'd had a close relationship before, someone who meant everything to him. His life had been dedicated to keeping her healthy and fed and safe. Then his mutation had manifested, and he'd decided to put it to use. He hadn't wanted to steal, but as starving orphans in an unforgiving, eastern European hovel, there wasn't much choice.

His actions had fed them for the day, but he'd unknowingly sealed their fate. He'd been seen to be a thief with mysterious powers. The townspeople feared them, called them witches. The town rose up against them.

Everything had happened so fast. Even to him, it seemed an indecipherable blur. All he knew was that suddenly, he was alone, and he had no way to track her. The only thing he found was her blanket, stained scarlet with blood.

Some time later, Xavier had found him, and he was here now.

Realizing that a tear had begun to roll down his cheek, he quickly wiped it away and steeled his thoughts. He was in the hallway at school between classes. He couldn't let his mind wander back to his past. To his darkest day.

"Pietro?"

He spun at the sound of a woman's voice and found himself facing his classmate, Betty. She was in a few of his classes, and also was in the yearbook club with Scott.

"Hello, Betty," Pietro said. He was still distracted by his dark memories, and he fought to focus in on her brown eyes.

She smiled at him, and blushed, looking down at her feet. He couldn't remember having ever really spoken more than a few words to her personally before, and wondered what she could want.

"I, um . . . had a question," she said.

"Okay."

She looked back up at him, taking a deep breath. "The homecoming dance this weekend - do you have a date?"

"The dance? I don't have a date."

"Really?" She smiled, sheepish, and her face turned even redder.

"I wasn't really even planning to go to that." Pietro shrugged. "The game, or the dance."

Betty's smile faded. "Oh. Um. Okay."

She turned and walked quickly away. She joined some friends waiting for her nearby, moving away swiftly with her head down. They followed after her, seemingly trying to speak to her and casting glances back in his direction.

Pietro shrugged and wondered what that had been about. Why would she randomly come talk to him in the halls, especially to make small talk about something silly like a school dance.

He was puzzling over this when he felt a tap on his shoulder and turned to see a stern-faced Jean.

"Hi, Jean," Pietro said. Why did she look so angry?

"What was that all about?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

She waved her hand between him and the direction Betty had gone with a look that said she thought it should be obvious.

"I don't understand, Jean."

"Betty. You totally blew her off."

"What are you talking about?"

"She just asked you to go to the homecoming dance and you totally shut her down."

Pietro stared at her blankly. He usually felt like he could pick up on things faster than the average person, but this time he was at a loss.

Jean sighed. "Pietro, she didn't bring up the dance out of the blue for no reason. She did it because she wanted you to ask her out."

"How can you know this? What, can you read minds, now, too?"

That earned him an eyeroll and a scowl. "I'm serious. This is right out of 'Being A Girl 101.' If you want a guy to ask you out, you go and strike up a conversation about the dance with him and hope that he can add two and two."

"I don't think that's very fair."

"And I don't think it's very unclear, but apparently it is."

Pietro stared at her. "Don't you think you're coming on a little strong about this? Do you even know her that well?"

Jean sighed. "No, we're not very close or anything. And, sorry, I am coming in a little hot here. I just saw how . . . oblivious you were, and how her feelings were hurt and I . . ."

"It's sweet. You felt bad for her." He managed a smile.

She nodded. "Yeah. She felt rejected. That sucks. I hate that feeling."

"Well, you know, we don't all have boyfriends to literally sweep us off our feet."

Jean blushed. "That's not - I wasn't saying that."

He cocked an eyebrow. "But he is your boyfriend?"

Now Jean looked uncomfortable and unsure. "I don't know. Maybe? We like each other, and we hang out a lot. But it's hard to go out together, being at the Institute. And we're living in the same building . . . it's weird, sometimes, a little."

Pietro nodded. "You are going to the dance with him, though, yes?"

Jean's face softened with the hint of a smile. "Yeah. He asked me."

"I don't think anyone would be surprised by that," he laughed. And it was true. Maybe they hadn't put a label on it, but it was well known at school and at the Institute that they were into each other.

Pietro's mind flashed back to the Danger Room session, to the mounting tensions between Scott and Warren. He would be surprised if that wasn't related to the approach of the dance, as well.

"Look, Pietro, you don't have to go to the dance with Betty. But you should at least come to the dance with us. We live together, we're your friends, let's have fun together."

Pietro shifted uncomfortably. Her use of the word "friends" had felt somewhat forced to him, but he knew that he could blame himself for that. He got along well enough with the other Xavier students, but he also kept a safe distance from them. While the others seemed to slowly be gelling together as a friend group, Pietro had left them at arm's length.

Jean's eyes softened. "I don't know what happened to you before you came here. I don't know what you've been through. But you don't have to stay away from us. We're all in this together. So let's be together."

Pietro looked at his shoes. Maybe Jean was right. Maybe he'd been unreasonable to wall himself away from them. Maybe it was time to grow up and make a change.

As though she really could sense his thoughts, Jean put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Hank is playing in the game. We can all go, and we'll cheer him on, and then we can go have fun at the dance. Together."

He looked at her sheepishly, and nodded.

The rest of the week passed easily. There was a buzz in the air surrounding the big game and dance that weekend. People dressed up for the various theme days to show their spirit. Students giggled nervously in the halls, discussing their dates or what they were going to wear or who was going with whom.

The Xavier Institute was no solace from this either. Hank was brimming with excitement for the game, and Jean for the dance. Scott still rankled at Warren, particularly when the subject of the dance would come up, and Warren had in turn taken to largely and blatantly ignoring Scott. Hank and Pietro teamed up to joke about the whole affair, and with Jean's enthusiasm on top of that, the two never escalated their unspoken rivalry.

Pietro made a concerted effort to be more involved socially, and was surprised to find that he was actually enjoying himself. Jean and Hank were certainly open to his presence, with Jean's charming optimism and Hank happy to crack jokes. Scott appreciated Pietro for his comments in the earlier Danger Room session, but wasn't as effusive, and Warren was accommodating of his presence but not directly sociable with him.

Pietro finally started to feel that he may have a home here, after all.

It was hard to think that only months before, he'd experienced such unimaginable tragedy. Losing the only family member he had left had torn him up inside, and despite Xavier's promises to help him move on, Pietro was sure he could never forgive himself. It made him feel guilty to laugh, to feel that these people were his friends. He didn't feel like he deserved it, for having abandoned his sister in her moment of need.

Nevertheless, he slowly felt the wounds scabbing over, and found that he was able to smile, after all.

In spite of his mutation, Friday felt like it arrived quickly. The day was bisected by a pep rally, which he enjoyed, to his surprise. The spirit of excitement permeated the student body, and he found himself being swept up in it. Their mascot, a guy dressed in a purple dragon costume, danced about, and everyone laughed and cheered. It didn't hurt that Jean was laughing and cheering alongside him, or that Hank was beaming on the floor of the gym with his teammates.

By the time the game rolled around, Pietro was positively buzzing. The game got off to a good start. Pietro had never been much for sports himself, and American Football was still something of an enigma to him. The plays themselves were interesting enough, but without knowing much of what was happening, coupled with long pauses between plays, he was soon fidgeting impatiently.

Scott helped by explaining the various rules and strategies of the game, but Pietro found the whole thing a bit over-complicated. His leg bounced and he started looking around to see what else was happening.

Pietro did enjoy watching Hank play, and was proud to see him excelling. He wouldn't have expected anything else, given Hank's mutation, but he felt pride nonetheless. Hank's strength and agility allowed him to practically waltz down the field. He easily dodged defenders, and his massive hands cradled the ball safely in an iron grip.

It seemed almost that Hank would only be tackled or make a mistake if he intended to. Hank was surely agile enough to dodge incoming tackles, and maybe strong enough to drag a would-be tackler if they didn't catch him off guard. Pietro suspected that Hank had gone down more than once in the game just to avoid seeming suspiciously good.

Subtly, though, this seemed to change. It started when Hank was running with the ball. A defender leapt to tackle him and he spun to dodge it, as he had done several times before. But this time the ball flew from his hands.

"Aw, man!" Scott cried. "Must've stripped it!"

Pietro wasn't so sure. Maybe it looked to the average spectator like the defender had just managed to rip the ball out of Hank's hands. But Pietro's world moved a little slower, and he was pretty sure there had been ample space. Hank had simply dropped the ball.

Maybe he was tiring. There was probably nothing to it.

It was only a few plays later when another odd occurrence befell Hank. He got the ball and began running when suddenly he fell. It looked as though his shoes lost traction, like he'd stepped in a mud slick. His foot shot out behind him and he lost his balance.

A confused murmur rippled through the crowd. Pietro was just as confused as the rest of them. He could see Hank eyeing the grass where he'd slipped suspiciously, see him shrug at his teammates' questioning glances.

There was no mud. The grass was not slick. There was no reason this should have happened. Play resumed, but Hank seemed preoccupied now.

It was only the next play when something strange happened again. Hank was again able to get free and get the ball. He was running on a dead sprint. The field was open before him. There was no way anybody could get to him.

The people in the stands rose to their feet, screaming and cheering. Everyone roared in excitement, but Pietro stared silently, intently watching Hank.

And then, Hank simply fell.

The crowd gasped and fell silent. The opposing side cheered. Confusion worked its way through the crowd. What had happened?

Pietro was pretty sure he'd seen it. Hank had tripped over his own feet.

Sure, Hank's feet were abnormally large. But he was also super-humanly agile. Hank would never make such a mistake unless something were wrong.

It was almost like someone was pushing Hank. The ball had fallen out of his hands - or had it been pulled? He'd slipped, or maybe his foot had been yanked back. He'd tripped over his own feet, or maybe an invisible force had knocked his legs together.

Pietro eyed Jean sitting next to him. She was telekinetic. It was possible that she could have been doing this, although he wasn't sure that her range could reach from where they sat to where Hank was down the field. But Jean seemed just as confused and concerned as the rest of them and, most importantly, wasn't the type to ever do something like that.

But then there had been that Toad fellow that visited Hank recently, and had given him ominous warnings. Toad had been able to leap in a way no human could, but maybe he was telekinetic, too? Or maybe one of his compatriots was? He'd mentioned he was part of something called the Brotherhood. Another telekinetic wasn't the wildest idea.

"I . . . I'm going to the bathroom," Pietro said. Jean and Scott nodded, and he excused himself.

He descended the bleachers and rounded the corner, darting into the shadows beneath the stands. There were a few people down here, other students loitering about, making their own fun during the game. Some guys raucously laughing and trying to climb the girders. A few girls giggling in a tight circle.

It wasn't strange to see other people down here, but it did keep Pietro from using his speed. It would have been quicker and easier to be able to use it, but he'd have to make do the old fashioned way. He scanned everyone he passed as he walked through the underbelly of the stands, looking for any unfamiliar characters, anyone seemingly up to mischief.

He made it to the other end of the bleachers and hadn't seen anything suspicious. His eyes swept the area just outside, where members of the band and several other students were milling about.

Maybe it was because his eyes were adjusted to seeing things more quickly. Maybe he wouldn't have caught it otherwise. But there was a dark shadow that flashed by in the reflection of a window, just beyond the fence encircling the stadium.

Someone, a figure, was moving quickly, just outside.

Maybe it was nothing. Anyone could have just left, could be in a hurry. There was no reason to suspect that he had found someone who was actually using super-human abilities to influence a high school football game.

But maybe he should check it out, just in case.

He dodged out of the fence and rounded the corner. He didn't see anyone, but he moved quickly in the direction the shadow had been moving.

The roars from the stadium were still loud, but muted and distorted somewhat by the bleachers and the fencing between them. The lights of the stadium kept the field and stands bright, but back here the parked cars and the school building loomed in shadow.

Gravel crunching beneath his feet sounded far too loud, even under the roar of the crowd. It's probably nothing, he reminded himself. Loud gravel won't matter to someone who isn't actually up to anything, who isn't trying to evade capture.

A door slammed.

Pietro froze. He recognized the sound as one of the doors leading into the school.

He crept swiftly, silently to the source of the noise, pressing his body against the brick so that anyone looking out the window in the door couldn't see him. He was tense, his hands shaking. He realized that he had been convinced that he was, indeed, following some unknown telekinetic mutant. A member of the Brotherhood.

 _I'm being paranoid,_ he thought. But then he thought, _What am I getting myself into?_

Steeling his resolve, he reached a trembling hand out to grasp the door handle. He tried it, found that it was unlocked, and slowly - slowly - opened the door.

He winced as the hinges creaked. It was barely audible, but anyone listening in a darkened, silent hall would be able to hear. Of course, he realized that the volume of the game would be louder, no longer muffled by a closed door. Well, so much for the element of surprise.

He stepped swiftly into the darkened hall and stopped the door from slamming shut. He gently closed it until it quietly latched.

He looked around. This hall area led to the theater and band rooms, and proceeded round a corner to the gym and the changing rooms. He looked each way, but all he saw were lockers, tiled floor, and unmoving shadows.

Taking a deep breath, he tested a furtive step on the tile. His soft-soled sneakers allowed him to move almost soundlessly, and he started to proceed forward before he realized he wasn't sure which way to go.

He'd followed the sound of a slamming door into this hallway, but there was no any indication of where to go now. Or, at least, he thought he'd heard a door slam. Maybe he hadn't? Maybe this was a snipe hunt.

"Hello, Pietro."

His blood ran ice cold. He was frozen in place.

A voice in the darkness behind him, saying his name.

A woman's voice.

A _familiar_ voice.

He began to turn, and time seemed to slow to a crawl. The world around him spun and blurred as though he were using his powers, though he was most definitely not. The seconds stretched to eternity, longer and more agonizing than any before.

Finally, he saw her.

It wasn't possible. She was gone. She was dead. He knew he would never see her again. But here she was.

" _Wanda?!_ "

* * *

 **neXt:** The Dance


	6. The Dance

Author's Note: I'm sorry that this chapter took so long. In the last few weeks, I moved from Chicago to Southern California. In doing so, I lost a week to driving and two more weeks to lack of internet access. I'm intending to get back to a quicker posting schedule now that I'm settled.

Thanks to Le Faucon Bleu and Buttercream16 for your lovely reviews. I really appreciate it!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Xavier's five students have been acclimating to the Institute, their mutant powers, and their lives as high school students. Jean convinced Pietro to accompany the rest of them to the Homecoming football game and dance. While Hank was playing in the game, Pietro became suspicious that a mutant was manipulating the outcome. He went to investigate, leading to an unexpected and fateful encounter.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **6**

 **The Dance**

The darkened school entryway thrummed with the muffled sound of pop music blaring nearby. Lights flashed round the corner at irregular intervals. A teacher stood nearby to help point people in the right direction.

Jean was beaming.

She had seen school dances and prom and that kind of thing on television and in movies growing up, and had always been impatient to experience it for herself. It seemed so magical, like a modern day fairy tale.

Warren stood next to her, her hand resting on his arm as they walked into the school. He was tall and blonde and handsome and even rich - just like the guys in the movies.

Scott was there too, on her other side. He was quiet, and she had an impulse to grab his arm too, in a friendly gesture to make him feel welcome.

Admittedly, she understood why he was distracted. Pietro had excused himself partway through the football game and hadn't returned. Jean was angry at him for having left even after he'd agreed to come to both the game and the dance. She was hoping they would run into him here. Otherwise, she planned to have a stern discussion with him at home.

"Shall we?" Warren asked.

He was playing the part of the chivalrous man. She and he would often have fun pretending to be posh and talk in overly affected ways to each other. But she noted that Warren was dressed in an expensive, tailored suit that he seemed very proud of.

Warren had grown up in affluency, and since he'd donned his nice clothes, his shoulders were back and his chin was higher. He was always self-assured, but now he had an air about him of unmistakable confidence. He was in his element.

He strutted forward toward the sounds and the lights of the dance, and Jean felt her cheeks grow hot. Just looking at him made her smile, and she held tighter to his arm.

The dance itself was taking place in the gymnasium, which had been decked out with streamers and banners and balloons. It wasn't the unbelievable transformation Jean saw in the movies, but she loved it anyway.

The gym was packed with students. There were plenty of kids dancing to the music being played by a dj, and just as many kids sitting along the edges of the gym, watching the dancers. Jean saw so many kids sitting by themselves or in small groups, looking like they wanted to dance, or looking like they wanted to talk to someone but couldn't muster the courage, or looking like they just didn't know what to do with themselves.

She wished she could run up to all of them and smile and say hello and get them to dance. After all, what was the point of being at a dance if you weren't having fun?

She turned to Warren. "Want to dance?"

He smiled. "Sure. Sounds great."

Jean looked to Scott, still tagging silently along. "You can come too, Scott."

Scott fidgeted. "That's alright. I'm going to go find Hank."

"Okay, cool. Well we'll catch up with you guys in a few." And she dragged Warren by the hand to join the loose throng of dancers in the middle of the gym.

* * *

Scott Summers was not pleased.

Warren was getting on his nerves. Pietro had vanished. And now he was at a school dance. Alone.

Admittedly, he and Warren tended to not get along together very well. Things had started out fine between them, and they'd even started to get to know each other and develop a friendship, same as with the other arrivals at Xavier's Institute.

But slowly something had changed. Scott wasn't sure exactly what had happened, but he and Warren had slowly begun to clash.

This was most prominent in the same place where it likely originated: The Danger Room. Warren had seemed miffed that Scott had made it across the Danger Room first, and this annoyance had, if anything, been stoked by the fact that Scott was still the only one to have actually made it across to this day.

Once Professor Xavier started having them do team drills, Scott felt like his experience gave him the right to step up and take charge. Not only was he coming from a place of relative experience, but this was the kind of thing Scott prided himself on. He could strategize. He could envision everyone moving in three dimensional space. He could consider various contingencies and pivot as needed. He could think many moves ahead.

It had been easy for him to provide direction on their first group attempt. Nobody else was forthcoming with a strategy, and he managed to overcome his shyness and speak up. His plan was agreed upon and they began to implement it, but it wasn't long before Warren veered off course, encouraging the others to follow his lead.

This developed into a pattern of behavior. Warren rarely vocalized a plan at the beginning or directly contradicted Scott when he would bring one of his own. But Warren was quick to abandon the plan for one of his own. Scott found all of Warren's plans to be half-baked and shortsighted, and they all inevitably ended in failure.

Part of his frustration with this was the fact that Warren had grown up in affluency. He was used to getting his way. He'd had everything handed to him. His family ran a business or something, so Warren was probably being groomed from a young age to be a tycoon. So whether he realized it or not, Warren came off as very entitled to Scott. It was like he thought he should be the one they listened to because that's how it had always been.

Scott, on the other hand, had grown up in an orphanage in Middle-of-Nowhere, Nebraska. He had no childhood memories before the orphanage. He had no family that he knew of. The orphanage was poor, so meals were uninspiring and sometimes skipped, and Scott had grown up with few possessions, all of which were tattered hand-me-downs.

It was like the universe was purposely trying to give him a crappy life. So, naturally, one day he opened his eyes and blew a hole in the roof.

Luckily for him, that terrible accident turned out to be his escape. Professor Xavier had arrived and taken him to his boarding school for mutants, and things had finally started to turn around. Maybe it was the fact that Scott had at long last begun to feel like things were going right that made Warren's antagonism rankle him so much.

And now Pietro was missing. He had simply vanished halfway through the Homecoming game. He'd said he was going to the bathroom and just never returned.

Jean was convinced that Pietro hadn't ditched them. She had spoken with him directly and gotten him to agree to her face that he would join them for the game and the dance. She was convinced that he would stick to that.

Scott wasn't so sure. Pietro had been flighty and stand-offish from the day he'd joined the Xavier Institute. Professor Xavier hadn't been forthcoming with the exact circumstances of Pietro's situation, but had gently asserted that Pietro should be given his space, that he would come to them when he was ready.

Now it seemed like he'd lapsed back into his normal pattern of behavior, blowing them off and doing who knows what. Scott was disappointed, yeah, but he couldn't say he was really surprised.

The worst part about Pietro ditching them was what it did to Jean. She was so excited for the game and the dance, and Scott could tell that she was bothered by the fact that he'd vanished. If Scott turned out to be right, and Pietro wasn't here after all, Jean would feel betrayed.

He hated the thought that she would be upset. Jean was the nicest, sweetest, kindest person Scott had ever met. She was such a warm presence. Scott couldn't help but smile when she was around.

The fact that she and Warren seemed to be into each other confused Scott to no end. Warren was nice enough, maybe, but Jean was another calibur altogether. Warren didn't deserve her. She should be with . . . she should be with . . .

Scott didn't know who he thought she should be with, but he suddenly felt fidgety and like his face was hot. He realized he was watching Jean and Warren dance. He was probably just feeling annoyed at Warren for being such a jerk lately.

He didn't want to seem like a creep by staring at his friends. He turned away and scanned the crowd, trying to locate Hank.

The gym was pretty packed, and for a moment Scott didn't think he would be able to locate Hank. Luckily, Hank's mutation made him stand out in a crowd, since he had massive shoulders and stood taller than most of his peers.

Hank looked his way, and Scott started to go toward him, when he realized that Hank was not alone. He was in a small group of football players and their dates - not exactly Scott's number one friend group. Plus, Hank was standing next to his date, a girl named Vera.

Scott threw on a forced smile and waved at Hank, who returned the wave.

 _Great,_ Scott thought, _I guess I'll just stand here by myself like an idiot._

* * *

Hank saw Scott wave at him from across the gym and returned the gesture.

He felt awkward just waving across the gym, but for whatever reason, Scott was staying where he was. He seemed to be standing by himself, so Hank wasn't sure why he didn't at least come over and say hi.

The other football guys laughed at something Hank hadn't caught, and he turned his attention back to his group. He was with three of his fellow football team members and their girlfriends. After winning the homecoming game earlier, they were all in good spirits.

Hank knew he should be jovial too, but was having trouble mustering the feeling. Despite them winning the game, he wasn't happy with how he'd performed.

Things had been going just fine, but then Hank just started making silly errors. He'd dropped the ball and even managed to trip over his own feet. It had really confused him, since he had grown used to having perfect agility and self-awareness, due to his mutation. He'd thought he'd left clumsy mistakes behind.

It had left him feeling humiliated. He'd essentially turned into a bumbling oaf for a few minutes. It was like he'd developed an acutely bad luck that was purposefully targeting him, as crazy as that idea was.

Despite his stroke of bad luck, his team had thoroughly trounced the competition. Hank had eventually recovered from his stint of bad luck after a brief respite on the bench. But he felt shaken by it nonetheless, and it was distracting him.

Vera slid her hand into the crook of his arm, drawing him back into reality. She and Hank had been getting closer over the last few weeks. He liked her, and he was pretty sure she returned the sentiment.

She was a sophomore, with light brown hair to her shoulders and glasses over big, bright eyes. She was smart and well-read, which helped her stand out from the crowd of girls that had suddenly shown interest in Hank as soon as he'd made the varsity team.

In fact, even though Vera was a year ahead of him, she and Hank shared a class, which was how they got to know each other. While the other girls had shown up only once Hank had achieved some level of high school notoriety, Vera had actually not even known he was on the football team until he told her.

He looked at her and smiled. "Are you having fun?"

She returned the smile. "Yeah. I'm glad I'm here."

Hank could tell she was a little out of her comfort zone. She would probably rather be at home, curled up with a good book, than in a crowded gymnasium with loud music. But he was glad she had agreed to come here with him.

He was feeling a little nervous, being here with her. He'd never really gone out with a girl before, and now he was all dressed up and surrounded by their friends. He felt a little foolish, and definitely like he wasn't sure exactly what to do.

His stomach fluttered with nerves. Maybe he should take a bathroom break, especially after drinking all the water for the game earlier. That might help him clear his head. He definitely didn't want to turn into a clumsy oaf with Vera.

"Mind if I go, uh, freshen up?" he said.

"Only if you promise to dance with me when you get back." She flashed him a mischievous smile.

He returned her smile. "I would like nothing more." He hoped he sounded more suave and confident than he felt while he said it.

Pushing his way through the throng of his fellow students, he made his way toward the locker rooms at one end of the gym. Most kids would probably go to the restrooms in the hall. The locker rooms might have even been locked. Hank simply headed that direction out of habit and without thinking.

He was in luck. The locker room door was closed but not locked. It seemed like he was the only one who'd had this idea, as the room was deserted. In fact, only a few of the lights were on, casting dim, infrequent pools of light, cut with dark shadows.

The room was eerily quiet, the only sound coming from him. Nobody came in for the two or so minutes that he was in there. He tried to focus on drying his hands and straightening his tie, but the darkness was giving him the creeps. Regardless of how illogical it was, he felt creeped out, like something was lurking unseen, and he shivered.

Then a sound caught his attention. It was quiet, and hard to hear over the muffled music filtering through the closed door. It sounded like someone walking, lightly. Maybe even trying not to be heard.

"Hello?" Hank called out tentatively. The sound was so slight that he could have been imagining it, and he almost felt foolish saying anything.

"Hello, Henry."

Hank's blood ran cold. That he wasn't alone after all was startling enough. That he recognized the voice replying to him from the shadows was more so. And it sounded much less friendly than when they'd last run into one another.

"What are you doing here, Toad?"

Toad laughed, softly, darkly. Hank thought he saw movement in the shadows, but he couldn't be sure. He tensed, shifting into a wider stance, ready to react if Toad suddenly leapt at him from the shadows.

There were a few ways Hank could take to exit the locker room. He was at the far end of the room, and the lockers created several rows between him and the door back to the lights and the crowds of the dance.

Most of the room was in deep shadow. He could see the exit sign burning red over the door. If he could just get there . . .

Toad could undoubtedly see him. The bathroom area at the back of the room, where he was standing, was fully lit. That gave Toad an advantage.

Hank started to creep toward the shadows. "I thought I told you I wasn't interested in joining your group."

"It's not just a group," Toad's voice replied. It now sounded like he was off to Hank's left, somewhere. Which didn't seem to be where he was earlier.

Hank moved further out of the light and into the shadows of the nearest row of lockers. "It's called the Brotherhood of Mutants," Toad continued. "Mutants who have banded together to protect each other and advance the mutant cause."

Hank was halfway down the corridor of lockers. "It sounds like we have the same goals."

Again, Toad's reply sounded like it came from yet another area. "Difference is that we're doing something about it. Instead of hiding and hoping the humans don't find out about us."

As Hank neared the end of this row of lockers, his heart beat faster. Before him, a dark, deep chasm represented the shower area. To his left, he would have to pass two other rows of lockers in order to reach the door. With his speed, he should be able to manage it.

He hoped to give himself a slight advantage by throwing his voice. He faced back toward the lights of the bathroom area, cupped his hands around his mouth, and said, "If we have the same goals, why must you keep antagonizing me like this?"

A beat - then a soft sound back by the bathrooms. It had worked!

Like a shot, he was vaulting for the door. His huge feet were bound within his shoes, but this only slightly hampered his speed. In a few leaps, he had reached the door.

He reached out to the handle, glinting dully in the faint light. His fingertips touched cold metal.

And at the same moment, something grabbed him.

Warm, wet, and sticky, something had suddenly wrapped around his wrist, accompanied by a stench of rot. Hank couldn't reach the handle!

In the next split-second, he was yanked with shocking force by the wrist. Already off-balance, Hank flew off his feet, pulled backward by his wrist to land painfully on the concrete floor several long yards away from the door. The breath was knocked out of him, but the slimy thing had released him as he'd hit the ground, and he swiftly forced himself up on unsteady feet. It seemed like he wouldn't get out of this without a more direct confrontation with Toad.

"Why?" Hank barked.

Toad chuckled, his face looming out of the gloom nearby.

Hank shifted his weight and raised his arms defensively, sure that Toad was ready to throw a punch.

"Because you chose the wrong side!" Toad said. With his last word, he leaped up into the air, hanging for a moment with his legs right in front of Hank's face. Hank was already moving to block him, but it happened so fast that he wasn't able to move quickly enough to protect himself.

With powerful legs built to rocket Toad in incredible leaps, he lashed out in a savage kick, connecting with Hank's face.

Hank was unconscious before he even hit the ground.

* * *

Warren Worthington was happy.

He and Jean had been interested in each other for some time. They'd played at dating, going so far as to name their trip some time ago to the fair a date. Of course, that had been crashed by Hank and Pietro, and they hadn't put the word "date" on anything they'd done together since.

Regardless, it was clear they liked each other in a more than friends way. And now, dancing together with Jean as his date, Warren felt on top of the world. It was as exhilarating as flying.

They'd been dancing for a while, since they arrived, and were both sweating a bit and breathing heavily. They'd started off with a slow dance, which Warren had liked a lot. The excuse to get close to Jean, to wrap his arms around her waist and hers round his shoulders had been magical.

But the last few songs had been more upbeat pop hits, and Warren's patience was wearing thin. His wings were large, and had to be strapped down tight to his back when he was out so that he could appear normal. This was uncomfortable at the best of times. With his peers flailing about and knocking into him randomly, it was starting to become painful.

"Hey, Jean, mind if we take a break?"

Jean looked a little disappointed, but said, "Sure."

They weaved their way through the crowd until they had exited the crush of student bodies.

"Were you not having fun?" Jean said, a look of concern on her face.

"That's not it," Warren replied. "It was just a little . . . uncomfortable." He gestured lightly to his back, and she seemed to get his meaning.

Jean bounced up on her toes, looking round the crowded gym. "Do you see Pietro?"

Warren's eyesight was particularly good due to his mutation, but even he would have a hard time picking Pietro out in such a crowded space. "Honestly, I'm not sure. But, you know, if he's not here, it wouldn't the most surprising thing."

"I know. But he promised me he would come."

Warren wasn't sure what to say. Telling her that he didn't think that would hold much water with Pietro seemed like it would ring as cruel, and he couldn't bring himself to do that.

After a brief silence passed between them, Jean said, "Do you mind if I go dance with Scott for a minute?"

Warren looked at her strangely. "Why would you want to do that?"

"Because I want to dance some more, and if it's not comfortable for you, I don't want to ask you to keep dancing."

"I appreciate that, but can't you dance with some of your friends?"

Jean cocked her head quizzically. "Scott is my friend."

"That's not what I mean."

"What do you mean?" She narrowed her eyes.

"I mean, like, some of your girlfriends."

She put her hands on her hips. "Why can't I dance with Scott?"

Warren shrugged, trying to contain his frustration. "Because - he's - Scott!"

"That doesn't mean anything."

He sighed. "You know Scott and I don't exactly get along."

"Yeah, it would be pretty hard not to have noticed that. But he and I are friends. And he's here by himself and I want to dance. I don't see what the big deal is."

"The big deal is that he and I aren't on good terms, and you and I are kind of . . . seeing each other, or whatever. And it makes me uncomfortable."

Jean stared at him for several long seconds, working her way through what he said. Finally, she said, "He's my friend, Warren. I'm sorry you guys don't get along. But I still get to be friends with him. Even if you like me."

She walked past him toward Scott, leaving Warren to process her choice of words.

* * *

Scott saw Jean walking over to him and suddenly felt clumsy.

He wasn't even moving or really doing anything, but he still shoved his hands in his pockets for good measure.

Truthfully, he'd already noticed that Warren and Jean were nearby. He'd also noticed that they'd had a frustrated exchange right before Jean started in his direction. Scott wasn't sure what had happened exactly, but Jean's face was all smiles.

"Hey Scott!"

"Uh, hey Jean." He pulled a hand out of his pocket to rub the back of his neck, felt foolish part way there, and jammed his hand back where it had been. "What's up?"

"Nothing," Jean said, though she half-turned her head back in Warren's direction, maybe without even realizing it. "I saw you over here and thought you could use some company."

"Oh. You have fun dancing?"

"Yeah. But I'm not quite done. Want to join me?"

Scott felt instantly paralyzed. His face was now burning red-hot and he almost felt like he might sweat. None of which really made any sense to him. But before he could respond to what she'd said, she had grabbed his hand and he was following her into the crowded dance-floor. He thought he saw Warren staring in their direction, but he was too embarrassed to really focus on anything.

Before he knew it, he was there with Jean, swaying and bouncing to the music. She was smiling and laughing and having a blast, and he was just standing there like an idiot.

"Are you going to dance?" she asked, batting her eyes at him innocently.

He realized he had returned both hands to his pocket and was standing rigidly, as though at attention. He tried to relax - not sure he managed it - and wondered how he could possibly dance with her. He really had no idea how to dance, and he would look like an idiot next to her.

She seemed to sense his uncertainty. She laughed and grabbed his wrists to pull his hands from his pockets. "C'mon, it's not that hard." She started moving his arms back and forth in time to the beat, while she bobbed and swayed with her hips.

Scott couldn't help but feel that her enthusiasm was infectious, and he swayed along as best he could. She moved like a tree blowing gracefully in the wind, while he was sure he looked more like a building that swayed so as not to topple. But he was trying, at least a little.

Fortunately, the song ended quickly, and the next song on was a slow song. That meant he didn't have to push any further to flail about and make himself look silly.

Unfortunately, he forgot that slow dances had their own rules, and their own share of embarrassment.

Before he realized what was happening, Jean's body was close to his, her arms around his neck, and she was slowly shifting back and forth to the music. He looked into her eyes - which he knew to be green, though of course he only saw shades of red. She stared back at him, and smiled.

"Aren't you going to put your hands on my hips?"

"What?" he blurted, breathless.

She rolled her eyes. "Like this."

She once again reached out to gently grab his hands - how had they found their way back into his pockets? - and she guided them to rest lightly on her hips.

This was an unprecedented situation, and Scott was struck dumb trying to figure out how to react. Jean was here, so close that he had to turn his head so as not to breathe right in her face. His arms were on her waist, and hers were on his shoulders.

He could've sworn there had been music playing. Hadn't there just been a crowd of people around them? It seemed like they were alone together in a silent room, and the only thing Scott could see was her.

They danced together in that slow, swaying way for some time. Moments, an eternity, Scott couldn't be sure. Time seemed to have fallen away, leaving them alone together.

* * *

Warren looked again at his watch. How long had Jean been gone?

He was extremely annoyed that she had gone off to dance with someone else. Actually, he didn't want her to dance with someone else in general, but the part that made him really upset was that her dancing partner was Scott.

Even after he'd expressed his misgivings about Scott, she'd gone and done it anyway, which made him even angrier. She hadn't listened to him, and had brushed it off when he told her he wouldn't be comfortable with the two of them dancing together.

Then again, she had brushed off his feud with Scott entirely. She'd made it clear to him on more than one occasion that she thought he and Scott should be able to get along. And if not, she said they should fake their way through it.

She just didn't understand what it was about Scott that made him tick. Of course, when he tried to explain it to her, it turned out that he wasn't really able to put it into words, either. Which was, itself, frustrating.

He had half a mind to plunge into the crowd after her, to wrest her from Scott's grasp or to force himself between them. He was just about to move when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Hey there, angel boy."

He jumped in surprise and turned to see Jean. She was leaning casually against the refreshments table, staring intently at him. Her eyes were burning in the shifting lights of the dance, and he immediately felt entranced by her.

"Jean? I thought you were out there dancing."

She smirked. "I got tired of dancing with that loser. I realized I needed a real man."

He felt a little pride at that, and even a bit of a gotcha feeling toward Scott. Scott wasn't a loser, truthfully, and it was kind of odd for her to call him that, but Warren couldn't deny that her calling him a real man made him feel like he was flying.

"You, uh, came here to take me dancing instead?"

Her hair was falling around her face in a way that commanded his attention. Her dress clung to her in a way that felt almost too revealing. He forced himself to keep his eyes on her face, but his mouth was dry.

She was still smiling, and her eyes seemed to glitter. "Not out there."

He tried to wet his mouth without success. "Where?"

She turned slowly, keeping her eyes on him as she did. She began to walk away from him, but before turning her head she gave him a last glance. Beckoning him to follow.

He couldn't resist going after her - nor would he have wanted to. He briefly worried that his legs would give out under him, since his knees had gone all wobbly, but a few steps laid those fears to rest. If she looked at him like that, he would unleash his wings right here in front of everybody and fly after her if he had to.

She led him through the gymnasium doors, out into the darkened hallway. Several other students were milling about, but the sounds of the dance were muffled once the doors closed behind him.

"You want to dance out here?" he asked. He sounded like he was tripping over his words, and he would have kicked himself if he could've torn his eyes off of her.

"Not out here. I want somewhere more private."

And again she guided him. He walked as if in a daze, almost unaware of anything but the intoxicating image of her. They rounded a corner and headed off to another nearby hall.

This hallway was dark like the others, but unless someone was making an after-hours locker run, it was definitely going to be deserted.

Jean seemed satisfied with their seclusion as well. She stopped and turned to look at him with those eyes that had him entranced.

"This is the perfect spot."

He felt almost detached from his body. His legs still felt like they were asleep, or like they belonged to someone else. He was so enthralled that he could hardly tune into the sensations of his own body.

At the same time, paradoxically, he was hyper aware of it. Was he standing weird? Did his suit fit properly? Did his harnessed wings make him look paunchy?

Jean didn't seem to notice any of that, or care. She walked slowly toward him, her hips swaying. The distance between them seemed agonizing.

Warren was so parched that even his lips felt dry and chapped. He tried again to wet them, and said, "What do you want to do now?"

His face, already hot with embarrassment and nerves, somehow got hotter. He sounded like a frog. He wished he had stopped at a water fountain or brought a drink along or something, so he wouldn't sound like such an idiot. Plus, with the way Jean was looking at him, she may be about to - well, he just thought he might need his lips not to be totally dry.

He had never kissed anyone before, and he hoped that she was about to lean forward and change that forever. A smaller part of him hoped that she didn't, because maybe he wasn't ready, and maybe he was going to be a terrible kisser and she would never want to kiss him again, and maybe break up with him, and maybe tell everyone else and he would never kiss anyone ever again in his whole life.

He blinked, trying to rid himself of those thoughts. She was standing right before him, staring into his face. He was so nervous he almost couldn't breathe. He hoped she couldn't see how red his cheeks were. His breath was shallow, because of nerves, and also because who knew if his breath even smelled good right now.

Silence stretched between the two of them as he waited and tried not to start sweating. She stared at him with her intense, fiery eyes and that slight smirk on her face.

Finally, she spoke. "Oh, Warren."

"Yes?" he croaked.

She shook her head at him as her eyes softened. "This was too easy."

"What?"

Suddenly, her face seemed to shimmer, and then melt. It reshaped itself until he was staring not at his beautiful girlfriend but at an older man with longish, curly dark hair and a beard.

"Who are you?" Warren blurted.

"Don't worry about him, moneybags," said a familiar voice behind him.

Warren whipped his head around to face this new voice. He spun almost all the way around, catching a glimpse of a colossal human shape, before he felt a sharp pain on the side of his head.

Stars flashed in front of his eyes for one brief breath before everything went dark.

* * *

The song changed again and Jean breathlessly suggested they take a break.

She was glistening with sweat and glowing with joy from all the dancing. She was having a blast. Scott even seemed to be having at least a little fun. He was usually so quiet and reserved, but she'd managed to get him to sway a little with the music, and she was claiming that as a victory.

She grabbed Scott's hand, dragging him along behind her as she pushed their way through the crowd of students. In a few moments, they broke through to the outskirts. Jean was laughing joyously.

"What's so funny?" Scott asked.

She calmed down a bit, enough to answer. "Nothing. I'm just having fun."

Scott didn't immediately reply, so she continued. "Are you having fun?"

"Yeah." He looked off, and she felt like he wasn't telling the truth.

"Hey, if you're not having fun, it's okay. You can just say so."

His cheeks reddened. "It's not that. I _am_ having fun."

She stared at him. "You're just nervous, too, right?"

"Nervous?" He licked his lips.

"Yeah. Worried about where Pietro is."

He seemed to relax for some reason. "Oh. Yeah. That is kind of stressing me out, actually."

"I know. Hank and Warren are able to brush it off, but it's not so easy for me. Or for you. I think we're kind of the same that way."

Scott nodded. "Pietro is restless, and that can get him into trouble sometimes. I don't want him to cause any problems for anyone." He looked around him quickly. "Or to run the risk of exposing us."

"Or to get himself into some sort of trouble and need our help," Jean added.

"If we're in this together, we should be in this together," Scott agreed.

Jean sighed. "I wish Warren felt the same way about that as you do."

Scott looked sheepish, and he shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. I think maybe I haven't been very good about that either. With him."

"You could both do better. But he's definitely egged you on."

He looked at her, and she was sure his eyes were reassuring behind those red lenses. "I'll do my best on that, from now on."

She smiled at him, and he looked embarrassed again. Of what, she couldn't tell, but she didn't have any time to fret over it.

At that moment, there was a whooshing sound, and suddenly Pietro was standing before them.

"Pietro?!" she exclaimed.

Scott looked around them. "Are you crazy? You can't just use your powers in the middle of this crowd."

Jean didn't think anybody had really noticed, but she was more distracted by the dark red wetness along one side of Pietro's head. "Oh my God, are you okay?"

Pietro was panting, and now that the shock of his sudden appearance had worn off, she was able to look at him fully. In addition to the blood on the side of his head, he had cuts and scrapes along his body and clothes, and he was standing on unsteady feet.

"Brotherhood . . . here!" he panted.

"They're here?" Scott repeated in disbelief. "Where?"

"Locker room," Pietro replied, still breathless. "Preparing . . . to strike."

She looked around them frantically. "Did you see Warren or Hank?"

"I don't see either of them," Scott replied. "I'm not sure we have time to look."

She understood what he meant. If the Brotherhood - whoever they were - was here, about to attack the dance, they had to do what they could to stop it.

"Let's go," Scott said, and Pietro led them around the dancing students to the locker room doors.

Luckily, nobody paid them much attention as they approached the doors. They entered the locker room slowly, cautiously. If Pietro was this beaten up, the Brotherhood was probably waiting to ambush them.

It didn't help that neither Jean nor Scott had actually encountered a member of the Brotherhood before. Hank had met someone named the Toad, and the Professor had seemed upset when he'd found out about said encounter. Otherwise, they only knew what Toad had told Hank - that they were a group of mutants. There could be three of them or a hundred, and they could be capable of anything.

The locker room, however, seemed to be empty. It was dark, with only a few lights on here and there, casting long, dark shadows across the multiple rows of lockers. Pietro, Scott, and Jean crept slowly into the room, looking out for any sudden attack.

What they hadn't expected to find was at the end of the row of lockers. Lying in a crumpled heap, they came upon the unconscious form of Hank.

Jean ran to him. He was lying face down, and she gently turned him over to peer at his face. Blood was pooled where his head had been laying, and was smeared around his nose, which looked misshapen. He also had a deep purple bruise starting to creep into his cheeks and eyes around his nose.

"He's out cold," Jean said, turning to face the guys. "I think he's really hurt."

Scott turned to Pietro. "Did you see who did this?"

Pietro just stared at him silently, with wide, unblinking eyes. He looked like a ventriloquist's doll that was no longer being controlled. Jean shivered.

"Pietro!" Scott barked. "Answer me! What's wrong?"

Pietro jerked unnaturally, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Jean. His head tilted and his arms rose, again looking like a puppet. Then, even more disturbingly, his face seemed to start to melt.

Scott and Jean watched in silent horror as he jerked and melted in front of them, putting on some sort of revolting show. After several seconds, his entire form began to shimmer, and before their eyes, he simply faded slowly from existence.

Jean felt like she could hardly breathe after the unnatural event she'd just witnessed. "Scott. What. Was that?"

"I have no idea, Jean," he replied.

Jean's hands shot to her ears as a loud banging noise suddenly filled the air. All of the lockers had simultaneously burst open, their doors smashing in one unified clang. Then the doors ripped off their hinges and began hurtling about the cowering duo and their unconscious friend.

"What's going on?" Jean screamed over the din.

"I don't know!" Scott cried. He sounded helpless.

Laughter began to echo through the whirling metallic noise of the locker door hurricane. It seemed to fill their heads, coming from everywhere at once instead of from a specific point. It reminded Jean of when Professor Xavier would speak with them using his telepathy.

Squinting through the spinning metal slabs, Jean thought she could make out someone standing at the far end of the room. It was really just shadows with a darker shadow in their midst, but after a few seconds, she was sure it was humanoid.

"Do you see that?" she called, pointing at the figure.

Scott looked where she was indicating but shook his head no. "I can't see anything. But my eyes aren't as good in low light as yours." He tapped his glasses as a reminder.

That was what gave her the idea. "Scott! You can get us out of this!"

"What are you talking about?" He ducked as a locker door whizzed past his head.

She stared at him intently. "Take off your glasses!"

"What?" He stepped back, looking stricken. "No way! Are you crazy?"

"Are you?" she countered. "We're pinned down here, Hank is unconscious, and if one of those doors hits us, we will be too - or worse."

Scott looked slightly more amenable, but still unconvinced. "Scott, I can see a figure over there. I don't know who he is or why he's doing this, but he clearly isn't trying to make friends. We need to get out of this situation alive and ask questions later."

He still looked at her like he couldn't imagine going through with it. She tried to reassure him with a look of determination. She wanted him to see that she knew what she was doing - even if it wasn't true.

But then a locker door whooshed past her arm. She dodged out of the way, narrowly avoiding being struck by it, yelping in surprise and terror. "Scott! Come on!"

She turned a pleading gaze toward him, and he finally seemed to change his mind. "Okay." He moved in front of her and squatted down in a sturdy stance. He looked in the direction of the shadow, and slowly removed his glasses.

Nothing happened.

Jean saw his hand trembling, his body tense. She peeked over his shoulder at his face. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly that they might get stuck that way.

The laughter was still sounding in her ears, louder and more hysterical now. She wasn't sure Scott would actually open his eyes if she couldn't find some way to coax him. She positioned herself behind him and gently placed her hands on either side of his head.

He jerked as she made contact with him. She lightly tilted his head until he was directly facing the shadowed figure before leaning down to whisper in his ear.

Her hair brushed against his ear, eliciting another jump from him. "I've got you," she whispered in what she hoped was a soothing, reassuring voice. "Open your eyes."

There was another brief moment of hesitation.

And then the world exploded.

Blinding red light burst from Scott's eyes the moment he opened them, enveloping her entire field of view. She felt the force emanating from his eyes in the same way that she might feel heat emanating from a nearby stove; it made her hair wave as in a breeze. She threw a hand over her eyes to shield them from the neon red glow. A crackling, electric sound filled the air, coupled with a deep boom that Jean felt in her chest.

It was all over in a second, two seconds tops. Scott's eyes were once again firmly closed, his eyelids momentarily still glowing red, before his frantic hands returned his glasses safely to his eyes.

With the glaring light of his optic blasts now gone, Jean blinked to regain her vision and took in the locker room around them.

The locker doors were gone. Not fallen around them. Simply vanished. She saw that the lockers were almost all closed, as they had been when they'd entered. The shadowed figure had vanished, too. Where he'd stood was nothing.

Literally. The entire wall was gone, turned into rubble by Scott's blast. Some bricks were scattered about where the wall had been, while some had been blown several yards away. Part of the locker closest to the wall had been caught in the blast, and had been ripped away, leaving the remaining locker bank rooted precariously in place.

The laughter was still there, though. It sounded even more gleeful, almost triumphant, before slowly fading away.

Jean and the others had long wondered what Scott's optic blasts were really like, but she was sure none of them were prepared for the sudden, devastating destruction they were actually able to unleash.

Jean and Scott huddled together, trembling in shock.

In a few moments, the locker room door opened as people came to investigate the disturbance. They found Scott and Jean there still, shaking, speechless, unmoving.

* * *

 **Next Time:** Ransom!

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	7. The Missing Students

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu and dead-raccoons for taking the time to leave a review!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Jean was determined to have fun at the Homecoming dance with her date, Warren, but they ended up arguing about Scott. Hank was attacked by Toad and knocked unconscious. Warren was also attacked and subdued. Jean and Scott danced together. Pietro, who had vanished during the Homecoming game, appeared before them to say that the Brotherhood was attacking. When they went to investigate, Pietro vanished before they were attacked as well. Scott finally unleashed his optic blast, which saved them from their attacker but also destroyed part of the school.

* * *

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **7**

 **The Missing Students**

A bomb had gone off.

At least, that's what everyone seemed to think. The entire wall of the men's locker room had been demolished, blasted out into the parking lot. What other possibility could there be?

Jean knew, of course, that there had been no bomb. But for her, it felt like a bomb had rocked her world anyway.

Hank had been terribly injured and left unconscious. The mysterious Brotherhood had appeared and attacked them, revealing ill intent toward her and the other Xavier students. And to top it all off, her friend Scott had finally displayed his optic blast - and the result was more terrifyingly destructive than she could ever have imagined.

Jean's ability was relatively simple by comparison. She could move and manipulate things with her mind. She could only lift objects up to a weight approximating what she could easily lift with her arms. She couldn't lift objects that were too far away, and she wasn't practiced enough to use her telekinesis with delicate precision.

All things considered, she was unique compared to non-mutant humans, but not particularly dangerous. Along with a strong man, a fast guy, and a boy with wings, Jean had thought that mutation might set them apart from the general populace - maybe even make them feared - but wouldn't make them particularly dangerous.

Scott had shattered that idea in one blinding instant.

Suddenly, mutants could be anything. They could do anything. They could hurt and destroy.

He'd used his power to stop a mysterious assailant. Someone had been hiding in the shadows, attacking them by somehow hurling locker doors at them. The doors had seemed to vanish as mysteriously as the shadowed figure.

This attack had apparently come from the Brotherhood, which was the second aspect of her world to have been shattered. Jean had never realized it before, but part of her had felt extra safe and secure, knowing that she had a secret power that nobody shared. She felt like she could use it to protect herself and scare off anyone that tried to accost her. After all, being a mutant might make people aggressive toward her, someday. Once normal humans started to learn about mutants, that is.

What Jean had not considered was the idea that she would be targeted by mutants themselves. The Brotherhood was explicitly and exclusively a mutant organization. She didn't know much about their members or their aims, but the fact that they would attack her and her friends directly had left her sense of security in shambles.

Perhaps it was for the best that They were in a state of shock. The sound of Scott demolishing the wall had drawn people's attention, even over the loud music in the gym. The entire wall was gone, along with portions of the lockers next to that wall. Part of the roof had collapsed around the gaping hole following the blast.

Needless to say, the dance had come to a halt.

People were understandably surprised. They asked a lot of questions. How had the wall exploded? Who had left Hank injured and unconscious? What were Jean and Scott doing there?

Questions barraged them, but Scott and Jean left them unanswered. They were both dazed by what had happened, and their peers attributed that to mean that they had been victims of this tragic event. Which was at least partially true.

An ambulance was called for Hank, and people endeavored to make them all comfortable while they waited for its arrival. Thankfully, someone had the presence of mind to phone the Institute as well, and Professor Xavier appeared around the same instant as the ambulance.

When she saw the Professor, Jean burst into tears. She hadn't expected to be so upset, but there she was, running to him with tears streaming down her face.

He stretched out welcoming arms for her as she approached, and in moments she was crying into the suit cloth on his shoulder.

The Professor wrapped his arms around her in a comforting embrace and patted her back. "Are you alright, Jean?"

"I . . . I think so," she sobbed.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

She tried to speak, but her throat choked the words.

"It was pretty crazy," said a voice she recognized to be Scott's. She jumped in surprise, unaware that he'd joined them. She straightened up and tried to pull herself together. She suddenly felt foolish for crying. She wiped her eyes and tugged at the hem of her shirt.

"And you, Scott - are you alright?"

Scott rubbed the back of his neck. "I think so." He sounded like he wasn't sure if that was the truth or not.

"Were you hurt?" Xavier asked, glancing back and forth at the both of them.

"Just shaken up," Jean replied, and Scott nodded in agreement.

"Where is Warren?"

Jean felt a knot in her stomach as soon he asked it. She hadn't even wondered where Warren was yet. She'd been so worried about Hank and stressed about having been attacked.

Plus, he wasn't even there during the attack, so he had to be okay.

Right?

The knot in her stomach clenched, and she cast a worried glance at Scott before replying, "I don't know. We haven't seen him since a little while before the attack."

Xavier's look of concern grew. "You're calling this an attack?"

Scott nodded tersely before he replied. "Brotherhood."

The Professor looked silently at them both for a moment. "We'll need to discuss this more in depth when we get back home. But for now, as his caretaker, I will need to accompany Hank to the hospital. You two should come along with me."

"What about Warren?" Jean asked.

Xavier's brow furrowed even more. "Unfortunately, I don't think there's much we can do at the moment. If he's nearby and safe, he will be able to get himself home. If he's hurt and in the school, the chaperones will find him."

Chaperones from the dance were indeed combing the school halls to look for any other injured students. But the idea of potentially abandoning Warren didn't sit well with either of them.

"We can stay and help them look," offered Scott.

"That's very kind, Scott," replied the Professor. "But if you've been attacked here tonight by the Brotherhood, I would rather ensure that you get back to the safety of the Institute. We'll get you home and figure out how to solve the rest of these problems from there."

Jean and Scott exchanged uncertain looks.

"Who knows," said Xavier, "Warren may even beat us home."

Jean hated the idea of leaving without Warren. If he was still here, she didn't want him to feel like they'd forgotten him. But it was true that there was little to no help they could offer, and the Professor was genuinely worried about them being out any more tonight.

Reluctantly, they followed him to the car waiting to take them to the hospital.

* * *

Charles Xavier was distraught. His students had been attacked.

He had opened his school with lofty dreams: A place where young mutants could find sanctuary, could make friends and grow up, while safely learning to control their various mutant abilities. All in service of Xavier's even loftier goal: That his students would grow to be ambassadors for mutantkind. That they would dispel stigma with their very presence, and that they would change people's hearts and show them that humans and mutants need not be separate.

Now, of five students, two were missing, two were terrified, and the last was injured, unconscious, and hospitalized.

The responsibility to protect these five was weighing on him more heavily than ever. The weight was already large under the best of circumstances. After all, as young mutants, they were destined to encounter their fair share of discrimination and prejudice. Some - hopefully few, but certainly some - would even be destined to experience violence.

He hoped to protect them from this as much as he could, and to prepare them for when he couldn't. And yet here he was, having thrice failed. He was torn in all directions, between comforting the two who were frightened, caring for the one who was hurt, or looking for the two who were missing.

He briefly entertained the idea of leaving Scott and Jean to look after Hank in the hospital, but quickly banished the thought. They were just children, and even if he could leave minors in his stead, it would be wildly irresponsible.

Unfortunately, that meant he was stuck waiting at the hospital, cut off from the mansion's resources. One such resource in particular could prove very useful in the search for his missing students.

It was called Cerebro. It was a device that magnified his telepathic abilities significantly. With it, he could expand his telepathic reach across large swaths of the world.

Cerebro was designed as a mutant detection device. It was primed to detect and hone in on mutants who were using their abilities, with particular emphasis on heightened signatures, such as those during a stressful encounter or during a mutation's initial manifestation.

Charles had actually used Cerebro to help him locate several of his current five students. There had been numerous other potential candidates, with a number of new mutant signatures growing daily, but the Institute's considerable resources had limits.

Regardless, were he home right now, he could strap himself into Cerebro and scan for miles, seeking Pietro and Warren. If they weren't using their mutant abilities, it would be hard if not impossible to find them. But there was always a chance.

There was another resource at his disposal despite him being away from the Institute, but he was loath to use it. An old colleague. Without this man, the Institute likely wouldn't exist. And yet the Institute in its current form was unknown to him, and Xavier worried what might happen if that changed.

Charles looked at the worried faces of his students, Jean and Scott. He wondered what they were thinking about this whole affair. They had been attacked, some of their peers had vanished, and here they sat, trying to piece it all together.

Of course, Charles had an easy means to discover quite exactly what they were thinking, but he tried not to use his mutant abilities to probe people's minds without permission, save in the direst of circumstances.

He didn't know where Pietro had gone to, but it seemed he'd left before the whole debacle. Scott and Jean claimed to have seen him, but also to have seen him disappear in a mysterious way. Based on their description of this and the vanishing locker doors, Charles suspected that this Pietro had been illusory. The real Pietro had likely never been there at all.

The circumstances in which Xavier had found him had left Pietro with deep mental scars. He was always restless, always searching for something he'd lost. Much as he hated to admit it, Charles couldn't say he was surprised that Pietro had suddenly decided to leave.

Warren was more troubling. Charles was aware that Warren had no strong ties with his parents or his past life. Additionally, Warren had developed a strong bond and romantic interest with Jean. So it was unlikely that he would choose to leave, much less simply disappear.

Charles had floated the idea to Scott and Jean that Warren was fine and able to independently make his way back to the Institute. But secretly he was not so sure.

If his other three students had been attacked, Warren probably had been, too. Assuming their assailants had selected them because of their affiliation with Xavier's Institute, they would all have the same targets on their backs. And while Scott and Jean had made it away from their attacker unscathed, Warren may not have been so lucky. Even now, he may have been found in a similar state to Hank. Hopefully, if he had been attacked, he was on his way to the hospital now, too.

But there was a heavy feeling in the pit of Charles's gut that whispered of something worse. That Warren was injured and alone. That he had been kidnapped. That he had been killed.

That last thought almost sent Xavier to the phone that instant to call on his old friend for help. But doing so would be opening Pandora's box, and he stopped himself.

He had to remind himself that it had only been a few hours. There was probably no help he could get anyway.

Cerebro was the best option. As soon as he could get home, he would begin the hunt himself.

* * *

Jean was exhausted by the time they returned to the mansion.

She probably would have been wiped out even without all the extra excitement, what with the game and the dance. But adding the attack from the Brotherhood and a hospital visit with Hank on top of everything else, and she felt like she would fall asleep as soon as her head hit her pillow.

Hank had awoken shortly after arriving at the hospital. His nose was broken and he had a concussion. The doctors wanted to keep him overnight for monitoring, since he'd been knocked unconscious for so long. Xavier had agreed and the rest of them had departed for the mansion.

The car ride home had been quiet. Everyone seemed to be about as exhausted as she was. Once they returned to the mansion, she said quick goodnights and headed to her wing of the school.

Xavier's Institute had its dorms on the upper floor. They were nice rooms with a bed, a closet, a window, and even personal bathrooms. There were two wings extending off to either side of the second story landing of the stairs, with guys on one side and girls on the other.

Of course, the institute only had five students currently, so most of the rooms were vacant. And since Jean was the only girl of the five, she had an entire wing of the Institute to herself.

Sometimes that was a really cool thing. Being the sole occupant of an entire section of a mansion made her feel like a princess. She had run around and imagined herself as high-society or an important politician or debutante or celebrity.

But there were many times when it was a lonely experience, too. This was one of those times.

She was almost too tired to think, but after the Brotherhood had appeared out of nowhere and viciously attacked Hank, she wasn't particularly happy to be alone, and to know that she was separated from the others. She eyed the shadows of the dimly lit hallway suspiciously as she made her way to her bedroom.

She was still worried about Warren and Pietro. They hadn't been waiting at home when the rest of them had arrived, as they'd been hoping they would be. That meant they could still be out there, lost or hurt.

Xavier had sent Scott to check the second floor and the basement levels while he scanned the ground floor. They'd both agreed that Jean should go ahead and get some sleep. Normally she would have protested and demanded to help, but she was so frazzled from this experience that she couldn't find the energy to object.

She opened the door to her room, grateful to be home. Her bed looked comfy and inviting.

There was a sheet of paper on top of her sheets. She unfolded it curiously.

Inside was a note, scrawled hastily, as though the author had to write it quickly.

It was from Pietro.

And it had answers.

* * *

Charles Xavier was afraid of what he was about to do.

Upon returning to the mansion, he'd sent the kids to bed. Jean had gone first, but Scott had stuck around.

Xavier didn't need to use telepathy to tell that Scott was upset. The boy was earnest and wanted to help. But he had also been terrified of his power since the moment it manifested. And tonight he'd finally used it, resulting in massive destruction to the school.

It was a problem, to be sure. The questions of what they'd seen, what they knew, why they'd been there - these would continue. The Institute itself may come under greater scrutiny, and Xavier wanted to maintain privacy as much as possible.

Luckily, the general populace didn't know about mutants yet, and the few that did thought of them as fictional or at least limited in scope and ability, an overblown anomaly and not a growing population. Still, Charles felt a hint of worry at the inevitable curiosity directed their way.

Scott had taken his leave shortly after Jean had gone upstairs, having confirmed that the lower levels were abandoned. That left Xavier to his work.

First, Charles went to the second sub-basement to use Cerebro.

Cerebro was a peculiar device. It was basically a simple metallic headset attached to a computer by some cables. Through some miracle of science, the machine was able to amplify and direct the abilities of a telepath. Charles was already a particularly gifted and capable telepath, but Cerebro allowed him to extend his telepathic reach dramatically farther. The Cerebro system was designed to find mutants, and essentially channeled his telepathic abilities to that specific end.

Any person with a mutant gene in the area he scanned could be located - but the mutant gene may not be visible unless the ability was being accessed at that time.

Cerebro had been pivotal in helping him find his students. While his association with Jean went back years, and he had found Scott based on a news story and some follow-up investigation, Hank and Warren had been located using the device to search the nearby area. And Pietro had been discovered one day when Xavier was simply testing his reach with the device, happening upon a new mutant signature in distress.

He hoped that Cerebro could serve him now by locating either of them. The problem being that, if they weren't using their mutant abilities, it would be difficult to impossible to find them.

He placed the cool metal headset on his head and closed his eyes to block out the world around him. This allowed him to "see" the images created by the fusion of Cerebro and his own telepathy. He would find mutant signatures and Cerebro would geo-locate them. And familiar signatures, like those of his students, would stand out.

Long minutes passed as he psychically tread and retread the area around the Institute. He cast a net wide, extending out many miles in a radius around the school. When that didn't get him results, he tried again, extending the radius farther. If they were in distress or had been abducted, they should still be nearby. Or Warren should be, at least; Pietro's speed could've gotten him further away if he wanted to be.

There were many mutant signatures to be found - it seemed there were more every time Charles looked. New mutant signatures were peppered in among others. He wished he had the time or resources to reach out to them all. He wanted to invite them here, to his Institute, to help them, to build a community. The dream of a school bustling with mutants filled his head.

But he couldn't help everyone, and he had a more immediate concern for the present. Best to set aside his hopes for the future, for now.

After some more time searching unsuccessfully, he finally decided that he'd done his best. Wherever Warren or Pietro had gone, they were not using their abilities.

Pietro was a mystery. Charles had rescued him from a dangerous situation, but he knew that Pietro had left someone behind, and it had left him restless ever since. That didn't guarantee that he'd left of his own volition, but it was certainly more likely than Warren.

Where Pietro always had one foot out the proverbial door, Warren had seemed perfectly happy to begin setting down roots at the Xavier Institute. He'd had a home life that was tepid at best, made drastically more fraught with the manifestation of his mutation. Warren had also formed a close relationship with Jean. It was unlikely he would still be out unless he was hurt somewhere, or he'd been abducted.

It was the possibility that he was being held or taken somewhere against his will that stuck with Charles. His students had raised the specter of an organization called the Brotherhood of Mutants several times with him. It started when Hank was confronted directly by one calling himself Toad.

That his students were being approached directly by this organization was concerning enough. It meant that their identity as mutants were not as secret as Xavier hoped, and possibly that the nature of the Institute itself was known, as well. What's more, Toad had made vague threats regarding the Institute's stance on remaining hidden among non-mutant humans.

Tonight's attack had escalated the situation. The Brotherhood had confronted them directly, leaving Hank injured. On top of that, Xavier was suspicious about the attack on Jean and Scott. He hoped they would permit him to read their memories of the encounter later, because there were several features of it that chilled him.

The first was the nature of the attack. They'd both claimed that locker doors had been ripped from their hinges and flung about them, but that afterward the doors were all in their proper place. This made Charles concerned that they'd been attacked not physically, but mentally. The Brotherhood may have a telepath on their side, which brought with it a host of possible problems and dangers.

The second thing that concerned him was more subtle. Someone else hearing their tale probably would not pick up on it, but it had caught Charles's attention immediately. The use of locker doors - even illusory ones - seemed too specific. If there were a telepath or illusionist, they could have attacked his students in countless ways. Why simulate using the metallic doors?

Charles felt he knew the answer. He suspected that it was a message - a message intended for him.

He was afraid of what it might mean, were he correct.

First things first, he reminded himself yet again. He needed to focus and solve the problem at hand. And since he wasn't able to locate either of his missing students using Cerebro, he was only left with one other option that he could think of. He was simply afraid of what it might mean.

He thought again of his dream, to fill the halls of his Institute with young mutants. To teach them to use their powers responsibly. To grow up to be peaceful crusaders for mutants to coexist with humans.

He was afraid that this phone call would jeopardize that dream.

But if his students were hurt or abducted, he had to do everything in his power to protect them. Even if it meant drawing unwanted attention.

He fished an old business card from his desk. It had a thin layer of dust from being untouched for so many years. Xavier had hoped to leave it that way permanently.

He dialed the number on the card and held the phone up to his ear.

"Yes, hello. This is Professor Charles Xavier, calling for Agent Duncan, please."

* * *

There was a soft knock at Scott's door.

When he opened it, Jean was standing there. She looked a bit haggard, and she was clutching a sheet of paper in her hands.

"Jean? What's wrong?"

She shook the paper at him. "I know what happened to them."

"What are you talking about?"

"Warren and Pietro. This note . . . I think it can help us find them."

She had waved the note in front of him, but he hadn't actually been able to read it. "What do you mean?"

Jean looked at the letter again as she replied. "It's from Pietro. I found it on my bed. I must have read it - I don't know how many times. He said he's sorry for bailing on us, but something came up and he had to leave."

Scott felt like he was missing something. "Why did he leave a note in your room to tell you he left the game?"

"Not just the game, Scott," she said. She sounded sad. "He's gone. He left the Institute."

Scott didn't know what to say at first. He'd always known that Pietro was flighty and noncommittal, but for him to actually have left . . .

"He doesn't really say why, but he says he's left to join the Brotherhood."

That brought a frown to Scott's face. "The guys that just attacked us? Why would he join them?"

Jean shook her head. "I don't know, but I get the impression that he felt like he had to."

"So what does that have to do with Warren?" Scott asked.

"I think . . . I think they took him."

"You think Pietro took Warren?"

"No, no." She shook her head. "Not Pietro, I think. I don't know. Not Pietro, but the others. The Brotherhood."

Scott pursed his lips. "The Brotherhood that Pietro joined?"

"He left me this note!" Jean snapped. She immediately slapped her hands over her mouth. She glanced about the empty hallway, like she was afraid they would be discovered.

Lowering her voice back to a whisper, she continued emphatically. "He came back here to write a note. To apologize to me for leaving. Why would he do that if he was helping to kidnap Warren?"

Scott was quiet. He still felt like the note, if anything, cast doubt on how much they could trust Pietro. "Regardless of whether or not Pietro helped to kidnap him - so what? What I mean is, if they took him, what are we supposed to do about it?"

Jean glanced at the note again before looking back at him. "He told me where they've been staying."

It took a second before Scott grasped what she was implying. "You can't seriously be suggesting we go there."

"Do you have a better idea?"

"We could tell the Professor."

Jean shook her head. "What is he going to do? Call the police? You just blew a hole through the wall of our school trying to protect us from the same guys who kidnapped our friend, and you think the best move is to bring in the police for an investigation? You think they can even handle a group of mutants? Or that it's a good idea to reveal mutants to the local police force?"

She had a point. But still, it was a crazy idea. "Okay, he can at least help us. Or, I don't know, give us pointers."

"Scott, there's no way he would let us go."

He just stared at her, unable to agree, unable to deny it.

"The only way we can help is by doing it ourselves," she continued. "If we wait, if we show this to him, he is going to stop us. And if the Brotherhood wants to fight off any rescuers, then nobody but mutants can take them on. That's us. We're the only ones."

"There's only two of us," Scott said. "We have no idea how many of them there are, or what they can do. We're just kids. This is too dangerous." That was without saying how he had no intention of using his powers again.

Jean looked at him for a long moment, processing this. Finally, she nodded. "Okay. Sure. But I'm right that only mutants can solve this. _And_ that Xavier won't let us go if we tell him about it first."

Scott shrugged helplessly. "I guess we're stuck."

"Yeah." She paused. "Except I'm still going."

" _What?!"_

Jean shrugged. "Nobody else can do this. So I'm going. I'd hoped to have you to back me up. But with or without you, I'm going."

She turned and strode away down the hall.

Scott stood there and stared after her. He couldn't believe what she was saying. What she was planning. This was insane. Dangerous. Foolish. There was basically no way that this was a good idea - which meant there was basically no way it would work.

"Wait!" he called.

 _What am I doing?_ he thought frantically. But he still jogged after her.

"This is a really stupid idea," he said. She opened her mouth to contradict him, but he pressed on. "But! If we're going to do this, we're going to need to be as prepared as we can be."

She smiled. "What did you have in mind?"

"Let's head downstairs. We need to get suited up."

* * *

 **Next Time:** Rescue

* * *

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	8. The Rescuers

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu for your review!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Charles Xavier has opened an Institute to help teach and protect young mutants. He has invited five kids to be his first students, but now they have been attacked by the Brotherhood, another group of mutants, and left scattered. Hank is in the hospital with a concussion and a broken nose. Pietro has left to join the Brotherhood. Warren is presumed to be captured by them, and, unbeknownst to Xavier, Jean and Scott have gone to try and rescue him. Charles has called an old colleague, Fred Duncan, for help - a move he worries may jeopardize his school's future.

* * *

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **8**

 **The Rescuers**

The driver they'd hailed balked when they gave the address.

He wondered aloud what business two kids had in such a shady area. They played it off as well as they could, with embarrassed non-answers. Dressed in their strange, matching uniforms, he seemed content to deduce that they were going to some sort of off-season costume party. Teenagers and their shenanigans.

They finally arrived on a darkened street. Scott was hard-pressed to locate a window that wasn't boarded up. The area seemed to have gone beyond just being a poor part of town all the way to being abandoned.

He cast a worried glance at Jean, but she was staring intently out the window.

"There it is!" she said, confirming the faded numbers on the facade of one building with the text of the note she still clutched in her hand.

"You - uh - want me to let you out here?" the driver asked uneasily.

Scott spied a gas station at the end of the next block, a bright beacon of light on this dark street. He leaned forward and pointed. "Actually, drop us off up there."

Jean looked ready to protest, but then seemed to find the logic in Scott's decision. Getting out of a car right in front of the building you were planning to infiltrate wasn't exactly a top stealth maneuver.

Once they were on their feet and the car had driven away, Scott took stock of their surroundings. They were standing under the bright awning of an old gas station. It was dirty and outdated, and Scott noted that the cashier inside sat behind bulletproof glass.

This was definitely not the nice part of town.

Jean was staring intently back at the building they'd passed, the one they had their sights on. It looked just as abandoned as those around it. Shabby and rundown, it was hard to imagine the Brotherhood squatting there - or anyone else, for that matter.

Scott rubbed the back of his neck as he thought for the millionth time tonight that they really had no idea what they were up against. The Brotherhood was made up of mutants, but how many, and with what abilities, were complete mysteries.

They knew they'd been attacked by someone who could throw locker doors around - or at least make it seem that way. The doors seemed to have mysteriously returned to their proper place after the attack. The whole thing had been a little off.

Beyond that, they knew that there was a member named Toad who could jump and who stank. Someone had abducted Warren and injured Hank; Toad could have been the culprit behind both of those events. Or just one. Or neither.

Scott couldn't stop himself from sighing in exasperation. This was an impossibly obtuse situation, and Jean just wanted to barge right in. And here he was, dragged along with her.

Jean's ability to move things with her mind was impressive, sure, but against an unknown number of hostile mutants with who knew what kind of abilities, it seemed awfully limited. Plus, Jean was limited to basically only what she could do by hand anyway, from a limited distance. Plus, she wasn't even very precise, so anything that required a delicate touch was out.

That was to say nothing of Scott's own power. While unquestionably more powerful and devastating, Scott was unwilling to use it because of those very qualities. He'd even managed to make it through Xavier's Danger Room training without using it once. He'd intended to never use it again.

Tonight he'd broken that rule. It was to protect himself and, more importantly, to protect Jean. There hadn't been any other way they could've escaped unharmed. Even so, even being backed into a corner, the fact that he'd used it weighed heavily on him.

Unleashing his optic blast had saved them, but it had torn a hole in the side of his school. That brought undue suspicion on them, undue expense on the school, and Scott felt the weight of all that pressing on his shoulders.

His optic blast was dangerous. It was a force of pure destruction. It wasn't worth it. It was too big of a risk.

Now he was here, in another situation where he may be forced to use it to protect them. Maybe even against another person. The thought made him almost too tense to move. If it weren't for Jean, he wasn't sure he could bring himself to do it.

Jean was still staring off at their target.

"What's the plan?" Scott asked.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I thought I'd have it by the time we got here. All I can come up with is we storm in there and rescue Warren."

"Okay." Scott was not happy to hear this. Not surprised, but not happy, either.

She turned to him, a pleading look in her eyes. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Honestly?" He took a breath. "We don't know how many of them there are. There could be one, there could be a hundred. Pietro could be there, or not. He could help us, or not. Maybe he was lying to us, and they're actually not there. Maybe they were never there at all. We have no idea what they can do or who we might run into. We don't even know if Warren is actually there!"

Jean stared at him, clearly not having expected a torrent of worries. She took her own deep breath before responding.

"Well. The way I see it, is: We've got the information we've got. We're here already. We snuck out, so we can't really go back without getting in trouble anyway. So." She shrugged, waving her hands back and forth, in a "so what are you going to do?" gesture.

Scott sighed. He knew she was right. The only way to back out of this now was to back out of it entirely. And Scott knew that Jean was not going to go back to the Institute without checking that place out first. And since he couldn't let her go alone, he was as stuck in this as she was.

"Let's see if we can find a side door or back entrance or something," Scott suggested. "If we can get in there without anyone noticing, maybe we'll be able to figure out the rest."

And make it out in one piece, he added silently.

* * *

"One of your students is missing?"

Charles Xavier winced. Fred Duncan had repeated what he'd just said for the second time, chewing slowly over each word with accusatory incredulity.

"Yes," Charles replied stiffly. "That is correct."

Agent Duncan was silent. Xavier allowed the silence to stretch. He needed to steer the conversation, yet knew that he had yielded his advantage with this reveal.

Finally, Duncan sighed. "I can't say I'm very happy to be having this dropped in my lap all of a sudden."

"I understand," Charles replied.

"At this hour. With our history . . ." Duncan trailed off.

"Yes, I know. You feel hurt that I hid this from you."

"Hurt's only part of it."

"Betrayed, perhaps?" Charles offered, his tone apologetic.

"You're not reading my mind, are you?"

Charles chuckled to ease the tension. "I wouldn't do that without your permission. Besides, I don't even know where you are right now."

"I don't believe that for a second," Duncan replied with a laugh of his own.

"I don't know the whereabouts of everyone at all times. Which, again, is why I'm calling."

"Right. You've got two students missing. Out of how many, did you say?"

"I didn't."

Another sigh from Duncan. "You're really not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

Charles tried to stay professional but resolute. "I'm giving you the information you need."

"You're coming to me for help."

"For help finding a missing student, yes."

"Just the one?" Duncan asked, seizing on this discrepancy.

"I have reason to believe that the other one has left of his own volition. While I'm worried about both of them, I believe that focusing on the student less likely to have left on his own should yield the best results, for the moment."

"Alright, Charles. What can you tell me about this missing kid?"

"He's a young boy with large, feathered wings coming out of his back."

"Tough to hide in a crowd," Duncan interjected. Charles wasn't sure if it was a joke or simply an observation.

"He was last seen by my students at the school dance several hours ago." Realizing the time made Charles also realize how weary he was. He shook it off. He could afford to feel tired later.

"Does he have a name? Any other personal identification information I can use?"

Charles paused. This was a second can of worms - but what choice did he have?

"His name is Warren Worthington the Third."

Agent Duncan again met this new information with silent consideration. Then:

"Worthington. Of _the_ Worthingtons?"

"I'm afraid so," Charles said.

"Charles. This is not just some missing kid. This is the heir to Worthington Industries. They do airplane parts, or something or other."

"Yes. Among other things."

"See, I know the name and I don't even know everything they do. And I work for the FBI! That's how big they are. I mean, I could find out, sure, but that's beside the point."

"The point being that he is missing."

"The point being that you've got a missing rich kid. Possibly kidnapped, you said? We could have a ransom situation on our hands!"

"I haven't heard any inkling of such."

"Yeah, well they might not contact you! They might contact the parents directly. Or call the company's support line. These people are one-percenters, Charles. This is a big deal. You thought keeping your little school - or whatever it is you're doing - a secret from _me_ was important. Try keeping a lid on it when one of the richest men in the world finds out you let his son get kidnapped out from under your nose."

Charles was silent. Everything Fred was saying was true. He knew it. He'd been berating himself for these very things all night. There was nothing he could say in his own defense.

Duncan seemed to sense that he'd put his finger in an open wound. He softened his tone. "Alright, Charles, here's what we're going to do. I'm going to make some calls, see what strings I can find to pull. Maybe, if we're very lucky, this hasn't gotten out. Maybe we can keep a lid on this thing and it'll all be okay."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Fred."

"Don't thank me yet. We're not out of the woods on this. And if we're lucky enough to solve it and get this kid back safe and sound, that still leaves you and me in an awkward place. Once all this is said and done, we're going to have to sit down and have a long talk about this secret school of yours."

* * *

Jean spotted a side door that let them into the building.

The door was stuck, but wasn't locked so much as old and rusty. A bit of finagling and a small shove granted them access to the interior.

It had already been dark outside, with a sliver of moon, no street lights, and the shadows of the buildings. Somehow, it managed to be darker inside. With no lights inside and no windows to let in the no light from outside, Jean had to stand still for several moments before her eyes adjusted. The darkness was inky, heavy, oppressive. With the odor of mildew in the air, it felt as though the shadows were a grime rubbing off on her skin.

"Jean?" Scott's whispered voice from behind her.

She turned to face Scott. His hands were out in front of him as though he'd been blinded.

"Are you okay, Scott?"

"I, uh, I can't really see."

"What?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty much blind here. It's already hard for me to see in low light normally, and this is way darker than that."

Jean hadn't considered this. Scott's eyewear - usually glasses, currently a visor with a single long lens over both eyes - was there to prevent his optic blasts from firing uncontrollably. Unfortunately, he was not able to turn his power on and off, so if his eyes were open, energy was exploding out of them.

The eyewear he was forced to live in had ruby-quartz lenses, which somehow was able to harmlessly absorb the energy. She'd never really thought much about it, but now she realized that these also had the side-effect of causing Scott to live in a sea of red at all times. Plus, if they were anything like sunglasses, then wearing them in the dark would be a hindrance. In darkness like this, even the slightest tint would be debilitating.

Deciding that there was no other way to solve the problem, Jean reached out and grabbed Scott's hand. He jumped in surprise, but managed to stifle a yelp.

She proceeded down the short dark hallway, Scott following willingly behind, holding tight to her hand. The hall they were in turned out to be basically a glorified landing. They quickly came upon a staircase leading up.

Jean led Scott slowly up the staircase. As with everything else about this place, the stairs were old. They sagged and creaked. Some of them made Jean afraid that she was about to crash through the rotted wood. But thankfully they held, and the two of them made it to the top without making too much noise.

The stairs opened onto a larger room. It looked like an attic or an upper storage room. To her relief, it was lit more brightly. The roof had holes in it where wood had rotted in, letting scant beams of light seep through from the sliver of moon outside. Better yet, a vent at one end of the room apparently faced another street which was better lit. Rotted, uneven slats of light played disorienting shadows across the room before them.

"Hey, I think I can see up here," Scott whispered, his voice full of relief.

Jean barely heard him. She was transfixed on what was in the middle of the room.

Warren.

He was bound to a chair. His head sagged forward, his chin resting on his chest. Aside from piles of debris from the rotted roof, he was the only thing in the room.

"Come on!" Jean hissed at Scott, pulling him after her as she darted toward Warren. She tried to move slowly, quiet and careful. The partially-collapsed roof made her question the integrity of the floor. Even so, excitement and relief overrode her more cautious impulses, and she ran to him. Scott stumbled trying to keep up.

"Warren! Warren, are you okay?" Jean was frantic to find him unconscious, shaking his shoulders gently, placing a hand on his cheek. Scott found Warren's bound hands and began working at them.

Warren was sweating, but his breathing was even. After a moment, he groaned and raised his head. "Jean?"

Jean smiled, tears springing to her eyes. "It's me. Scott and I came to rescue you."

"You and . . . Scott?" Warren seemed groggy, uncertain. Jean suspected they'd knocked him unconscious, similar to Hank.

"We're going to get you out of this," she said, picking at the ropes criss-crossing his torso. They were old and frayed, but tied tightly. Undoing him without cutting the rope would take some time.

"You shouldn't have come," breathed Warren. "Brotherhood."

Jean shook her head. "It's okay. We snuck in. We didn't run into anybody else."

"That doesn't mean they're gone."

"You should listen to the chicken-boy."

Jean's blood ran cold. Her head snapped up to look at the source of this new voice.

There, across the room in a darkened doorway, crouched a man. A boy, really, about their age. He had what looked to be abnormally large legs, bent in a low crouch to either side of his torso. He had a smushed nose and stringy hair. Jean caught a whiff of foul odor.

"Who are you?" Jean demanded, doing her best to hide her fear beneath false bravado.

"I'm Toad," replied the stranger. "I'll ask you to step away from our prisoner now."

Jean squared her stance, putting herself between Toad and Warren. She hoped Scott was still working on freeing Warren. "Or else what?"

A cruel grin spread across Toad's large lips. "Or else things are about to get ugly."

* * *

 **Next Time:** Things Get Ugly

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	9. Conflict

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu and Chloee0x0

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Charles Xavier has opened an Institute to help teach and protect young mutants. Recently, his students have been antagonized and attacked by another group of mutants called The Brotherhood. Warren was captured by the Brotherhood, and Scott and Jean secretly set out to find and rescue him. Xavier, unaware of their efforts, called his former associate, FBI Agent Fred Duncan, for assistance. Scott and Jean successfully located Warren, but before they could free him, were confronted by Brotherhood member Toad, threatening to attack.

* * *

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **9**

 **Conflict**

Adrenaline pumped through Jean Grey's veins.

She glared through the gloom at Toad. Alternating shafts of light and shadow crossing his face gave him a ghoulish, menacing quality.

Jean risked a glance behind her. Warren was still tied to the chair. Scott was bent over behind him, working to untie the rope and free him.

"There's no need for us to fight," Jean said, hoping that she'd managed to keep her voice from trembling.

"I told you to step away from our prisoner," Toad repeated, his heavy accent muddied by gritted teeth.

"Why did you kidnap him?" Scott demanded. Jean was surprised by the authoritative tone of his voice, given the tense circumstances.

Toad shrugged. "He's rich. We figured we could make a few bucks."

Jean balked. "Really? That's what this is about? Money?" The idea was too banal to seem real.

Toad narrowed his eyes at her. "The reason don't matter, love. I said step away!"

Jean took a deep breath to calm her nerves before she replied. "We're not leaving without Warren."

"So be it."

A horrible hacking sound emanated from Toad, like he was clearing his sinuses to spit. Jean threw up her hands in anticipation, clearing her mind and firming her stance.

"Jean?" Scott's tone seemed simultaneously to express concern for her and offer his assistance.

"I'm fine. Just get Warren."

She said it without thinking. If she'd considered for even a second, she probably would have begged him to join her. She was terrified of this Toad character and what he could do. She'd never been in a fight of any kind before, and this was no simple schoolyard brawl. This was a fight that she had to win, or else she might not walk away.

If she could stop to think about any of this, she might scream or cower or run away. But she couldn't, so instead she stood firm and faced Toad.

In that moment, Toad ceased his hacking. His neck puffed out like a balloon blown up and deflated within a second. At the same instant, his mouth opened and his whole body jerked.

Jean had been ready to deploy a psychic shield before her at the slightest hint of movement from Toad. It was this instinctual move that saved her.

As she waved an invisible wall of telekinetic force before her, green goo splattered against it. The slime was thick, and filled the air with a pungent odor. The viscous sludge slid to the ground with a heavy splat.

"Did you just _spit_ at me?!" Jean screamed in incredulous accusation and disgust.

"That's the least of your worries, love." With a grunt, Toad leapt forward.

Jean had no time to react. The distance and speed that Toad was able to jump was breathtaking.

Literally - Jean's breath was knocked out of her as Toad's leap pushed him through her telekinetic shield to plant his boots squarely on her chest. Jean slammed to the ground hard, stars bursting in her eyes.

She was disoriented for a moment, and the weight of Toad pressed and shifted on her chest. Her vision was swimming, but she could see that Toad had lurched slightly forward again, this time launching what could only be - she could hardly believe it - an impossibly long tongue from his mouth.

Fighting to get her focus back, Jean tilted her head, following the length of tongue. It stretched all the way to Warren and Scott - and wrapped around Warren's neck!

Warren was making strained choking sounds. Scott abandoned the rope binding Warren's hands and began smacking the length of tongue frantically, impotently.

Jean fought for as much breath as she could with Toad's weight pressing down on her. She stretched out a trembling hand toward the chair, several feet away.

Toad didn't seem to notice, or care. If she could knock him off balance for just a moment, relieve the pressure on her chest even slightly . . .

A cry burst from her as she pushed her telekinesis as hard as she could. Using all of her strength and all the air she'd managed to take in, she forced the chair to the side. Warren crashed down, whipping Toad's taut tongue to the side and causing him to lose his balance.

As Toad's weight shifted, Jean gasped to replace the air she'd just expelled. She twisted and raised her upper body to further imbalance Toad.

He noticed her now, shooting a glare her way. But she had freed herself from most of his weight. She rocked back for leverage and swung her fist squarely into Toad's jaw.

Toad gurgled a strained, surprised cry, and Jean saw his tongue go slack and retract into his mouth. Warren coughed and Scott began to rush toward her and Toad.

"No Scott!" she screamed breathlessly. "Get Warren!"

She winced as she picked herself painfully back up onto her feet at the same moment that Toad regained his composure.

"You're really gonna regret that!" he raged through gritted, sneering teeth. He hopped up into the air, flipping backwards so his legs faced her. It all happened in the blink of an eye, and then he kicked like a jackhammer to slam into her midsection.

Breathless and weary as she was, she somehow managed to put up another psychic shield. Unfortunately, her abilities were limited to a strength somewhere in line with her own physical strength, and Toad's kick was many times too strong for her to stop.

She was launched back across the length of the room to slam into the far wall. Bits of plaster rained down on her as she tumbled limply to the floor.

Her vision was swimming again, and darkness creeped into the edges of her sight. She was hurt, but she wasn't out. She would have to regain her breath yet again, and she would have some wicked bruising - maybe even a broken rib. But the combination of her mental shield and the military-grade padding of her suit had probably saved her from having her bones completely shattered.

Toad was approaching Scott and Warren slowly now, stalking toward them like a cat approaching a mouse. Warren was still bound and Scott had yet to put up a fight beyond some ineffectual striking with his hands. Toad had won and he knew it.

Through the gloom, Jean noticed a piece of wood lying on the floor a few feet past Toad. It looked like a two-by-four that had rotted right out of the rafters.

But it was so far away. The room was large, and the board was further from her than her telekinetic reach had ever gone.

 _First time for everything_ , she thought to herself. Stretching out a hand, she fought to steady her vision and her breath. She tried to focus on the board instead of the fact that Toad was about to reach the boys.

Success! She could feel her psychic grasp grab hold of the board and lift it. Her movements were slow due to the distance, and the strain was so much that her vision again started to narrow and go black.

She couldn't keep this up. She had to strike.

Now!

With all her strength, she whipped the board straight at the side of Toad's head. It flew like an arrow and smacked him with a loud, satisfying thunk.

Jean slid back against the wall, gasping and fighting not to blackout. Through the pain she could see that Toad had stopped advancing, wobbling back and forth on his feet. Hopefully about to fall over.

She shifted her gaze to see if Scott had freed Warren yet, but her head pounded and she winced, squeezing her eyes shut.

She was completely taxed. She didn't think she could stand, much less continue to use her powers. Just staying conscious had become a trial.

"Al _RIGHT_!" Toad roared. His voice sounded slurred ever so slightly, but he'd otherwise recovered devastatingly quickly. "I guess I need to deal with you first, love! And this time, I'll make sure it's for good."

Despair washed over her. Toad was still conscious, angrier than ever. She hadn't incapacitated him. She hadn't stopped him. She'd barely even slowed him down. And now he was going to knock her out. Or worse.

"You stay away from her!"

Warren's voice! Warm hope filled her chest. She found the strength to open her eyes and saw him standing there, no longer bound to the chair.

She hadn't failed! Those seconds had been the last ones Scott needed to free Warren.

Toad stopped advancing toward Jean to turn his glare upon his now-freed prisoner.

In one motion, Warren cast off his suit coat while reaching beneath his dress shirt. He pulled the quick-release on his harness. The buttons of his shirt popped off and the fabric shredded with a loud rip as his wings burst out to either side.

"You are _not_ getting away!" Toad screeched. "I'm taking all of you down!"

"Shut up," Warren replied.

With a _whap!,_ he whipped one of his wings lightning fast to strike Toad in the head. Toad dropped to the ground like a sack of bricks, finally incapacitated.

Jean breathed a sigh of relief. They'd done it. They'd freed Warren and beaten the Brotherhood.

But her relief was short lived. The sound of booming footsteps came from the doorway, and where Toad had stood minutes ago, a huge, hulking mass now stood.

He stepped into the low light of the room, and Jean's heart sank.

Immovable. Invincible.

The Blob.

* * *

Charles Xavier breathed a heavy sigh.

That had not been a pleasant conversation. Agent Duncan was unsurprisingly angry that Charles had opened an Institute without his knowledge. Given their history of working together, and the way things had ended, Charles had to admit to himself that keeping this from Duncan was a kind of betrayal of trust.

Charles had hoped to keep the mansion's purpose a secret from his past associates for as long as possible. But now Duncan knew, and had threatened to investigate more in the near future.

And with the way The Brotherhood had targeted him and his students, combined with his suspicions of who was behind that organization, it seemed that Duncan wasn't Charles's only old colleague to have figured out his secret.

Duncan was doing what he could to prepare a search for Warren, so Charles decided to turn his attention to his remaining students. They were probably asleep, and he would love nothing more than to sleep himself. But with Duncan likely calling back soon, and more importantly the simple fact that his students were missing, he felt that he should keep vigil as long as he could.

He hoped his students, at least, were getting rest. They'd had a stressful, terrifying ordeal. They might be haunted by this attack on for the foreseeable future.

He decided to check on them to see if they were sleeping soundly. With his powerful telepathy, he could pick up brain waves from nearby. And with years of honing his skill, he would be able to scan for brain waves without actually invading the thoughts of his students.

He placed the tip of his pointer finger on his temple and closed his eyes. This wasn't strictly necessary for him to effectively scan the area. Rather, it had helped him to focus when he was much younger and had less control. By the time he had honed his ability, these simple motions had become habit, ingrained into his muscle memory.

His mental scan ran through the two dormitory hallways of the school, one with Scott's room and one with Jean's.

He was getting some concerning psychic feedback. Specifically, he wasn't finding anything. That shouldn't be right. Scott and Jean were the only other students on the property with him due to the night's events, and he should be able to sense them.

Maybe they'd been unable to sleep, and had gone to some other section of the mansion? He psychically probed through the main floor, but still found nothing.

He frowned. He extended a radius out through the whole mansion, including the various basement levels, and the immediate grounds around the structure.

Nothing.

Charles felt his stomach clench and his spine tingle. This couldn't be right. Even if his students were in a deep, dreamless sleep, he would be able to pick up on their brain waves, however faint.

The only possible explanation was that they were not here.

Relinquishing his mental scan, Charles sat still for a long moment. This night had already been a nightmare. An unthinkable attack had befallen his students. One was injured and hospitalized, two were missing, possibly defected or kidnapped. That left only Scott and Jean on the property. And now they, too, were gone?!

It baffled him. It terrified him.

Where could they have gone? _Why_ could had they gone?

Warren, he realized suddenly. Jean must have decided to go out and look for him.

Scott's absence was less clear. Scott was a responsible student who tended to play by the rules. He would never have left on his own.

But, again, Jean was the answer. Perhaps Scott went to watch Jean's back, or out of a sense of protecting her. It could have been a larger dedication to the idea of teamwork. He may have felt guilty for Warren's disappearance, since they had an antagonistic relationship of late. Or it could be related to the interest Scott had in getting closer to Jean, which Charles suspected Scott wasn't even consciously aware he had.

Charles felt angry, and afraid, and sad, and helpless, all at once. His emotions roiled along with the knot in his stomach. If they'd run off without him, what could he do? How could he help?

There was one way he might be able to at least locate and track them. It had failed him when trying to find Pietro and Warren, but perhaps this time it would prove more fruitful.

Trying to calm his frantic nerves, Charles Xavier rolled himself out of his study and toward the elevator, headed down once again to Cerebro.

* * *

Scott could barely see the new foe who had appeared before them.

From his perspective, there was a veritable human mountain filling the shadows of the doorway through which Toad had appeared earlier.

"What's goin' on up here, Toad?" the figure asked.

"It's the Blob," Warren growled.

The figure in the doorway - The Blob, apparently - took in the scene for a moment. "You guys havin' a party and didn't invite me?" His tone carried a clear note of threat.

"You!" Warren snapped, raising his voice to meet Blob's challenge. "You're the one who knocked me out!"

"Yeah, I know, I was there too," Blob replied with a shrug.

Warren seethed at this nonchalance. Scott put a steadying hand on his shoulder, and Warren bristled at him.

Scott gestured to Jean, slumped in the corner. "Don't worry about him. Worry about her."

Warren softened. "You're right."

"Can you fly?"

"Yeah." Warren realized what Scott was implying. "But we can't just leave you here with him."

"She can't protect herself right now," Scott retorted. "She knocked herself out protecting us. We've got to make sure she gets out of here."

"This guy is huge," Warren shot back. "You weren't there, but I've seen him get run over and shot. Nothing phazed him! He's super strong! I don't know if he can be hurt or stopped!"

"I'll figure it out," Scott said forcefully.

"Scott. I'm not leaving you."

Scott could tell that this was a non-starter. "Alright." He turned to the imposing shadow of the Blob, still standing in the corner. "Impervious to damage, huh?"

"That's right," the Blob said, finally cutting back in. He started to move toward them, slowly, confidently.

"You so sure about that?" Scott challenged. He hoped he sounded confident, because his legs were shaking so much that he felt like they might give out from under him at any moment.

"Totally sure," Blob replied with a confident chuckle. "Nothing can hurt me."

Scott breathed deep to steady his nerves. He thought he might pass out from how terrified he was. And he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to follow through on the plan he'd just come up with.

"God, I hope you're right."

He reached up.

He twisted the dial on the side of his visor as far as it would go.

He pressed the button.

Red energy erupted out. He'd angled his head to look at the floor under the Blob's feet. In the split-second after he pressed the button, the wave of destructive, concussive force bursting forth reached the startled Blob.

Even if the building had been new, it still would have been demolished. This building was practically one errant breeze from falling over, and the floor basically dissolved.

Blob cried out in surprise, but there was nothing he could do. The floor was there one moment, and then it wasn't. And so, the Blob was there one moment, and then he wasn't.

Scott released the button barely a breath after pressing it, but a split second was all that was needed. He heard a second loud crash from below the new hole he'd smashed through the floor. It sounded like Blob's fall had managed to send him through the floor below them, too. Even if he was able to pick himself right back up, that should at least buy them a few minutes.

Scott turned back to Warren.

"Wow," Warren exhaled. "So that's . . . that's what that is."

Scott realized with embarrassment that this was yet another "first sighting" for his ability among his peers. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling his face heat up. "Oh. Uh, yeah. That's my - uh - ability."

"Wow," Warren repeated.

Scott was anxious to move on and hopefully never bring it up again. And indeed there was something more important and more pressing to worry about.

"Let's get Jean and get out of here."

At Scott's words, Warren seemed to mostly snap out of it. He was still a little distracted, but Scott chalked that up to still being dazed from his kidnapping.

Warren grabbed his wing harness and his clothes, and then he and Scott went to Jean, who was barely conscious herself. It seemed that the strain of her fight with Toad had almost knocked her out.

They helped her to her feet. She stumbled, then leaned against them for support.

Scott looked at Jean and Warren in turn.

"Alright guys. Let's go home."

* * *

 **Next Time:** Second Homecoming

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	10. Coming Home

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu, Chloee0x0, and blueandie for taking the time to read and review!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Charles Xavier has created an Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety and secrecy. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

In the past few weeks, his students have been antagonized by a rival group of mutants known as The Brotherhood. Recently, they attacked Xavier's students during their school's Homecoming dance, leaving Hank injured and kidnapping Warren. Scott and Jean secretly set out to save Warren, while Xavier revealed the secret existence of the Institute to his old colleague at the FBI, Agent Fred Duncan. Pietro reconnected with his sister, Wanda, whom he had presumed dead. He has left Xavier's to be with her as a member of The Brotherhood. Scott and Jean battled Brotherhood members Toad and Blob and were able to rescue Warren and bring him home.

* * *

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **10**

 **Coming Home**

The sun was rising on the horizon as the car finally turned onto the tree lined drive of the Xavier Institute.

Warren was still groggy from the ordeal. His head hurt and he had trouble keeping his thoughts straight. He'd probably need to get himself checked out. Which, he had to admit, was the right idea, even though it would be a pain.

Jean was asleep on the seat next to him, and on the other side of her was Scott. Scott had been silently staring out the window the whole ride home. For all Warren knew, Scott was asleep as well.

They finally arrived at the mansion itself, and Warren roused the other two. Limping, battered, and exhausted, they climbed the steps to the mansion's entrance.

The door opened just as they reached the landing. It was Marilyn, the cook, and behind her was Professor Charles Xavier.

Scott and Jean tensed at the sight of him, clearly expecting an outburst. Instead, Marilyn and the Professor both rushed forward. Before they knew what was happening, the three of them were being patted and prodded and fussed over. Marilyn became tearful, and her worried voice melded with Xavier's so that neither could be understood, save that they were so relieved to see the three of them alive.

Marilyn guided them into the sitting room and then bustled off to make them something to eat and drink. The Professor looked each of them over, waiting until Marilyn had taken her leave before speaking again.

"I cannot tell you how relieved I am to have you all back, safe and sound."

Warren felt relief flood through him, too. Now that he was back in the safety of his new home, he suddenly realized how afraid he'd been. Things could have gotten really bad. He could have been kept for a long time, hurt very badly, even killed. The thought terrified him all over again, so that he was tossed between fear and relief like a skiff on a stormy sea.

Scott and Jean also seemed to relax at the Professor's words. "I'm sorry we left without telling you," Scott said.

"Yes, well. Let's focus on the fact that you're back, and we can deal with the rest of it once you've had some rest." He paused for a moment. "Have any of you had word on Pietro's whereabouts?"

Warren was shocked by the question. Pietro was missing? Had he been kidnapped, too?

Jean spoke up, looking sheepish. "I think I know where he is." She produced a crumpled piece of paper.

Handing it to the Professor, Jean explained. "I found this when we came home from the dance. He says he's gone away. To . . . to join the Brotherhood."

This revelation hit Warren like a punch in the gut. Sure, Pietro had always kept himself a little separate from the rest of them, and Warren wasn't really close with him. Yet, the thought that Pietro had abandoned them still stung.

What hurt much worse was that Pietro had left them for the very people that had attacked and abducted him. They'd just fought for their lives to escape the very people Pietro had allied himself with?!

Professor Xavier seemed to silently feel the same way as Warren. He pursed his lips. "I must admit, I was afraid of that."

Warren was nearly as surprised by this as by Jean's initial revelation. How had the Professor suspected that Pietro had defected? Why would he have suspected such a thing of one of his own students?

"I fear there's nothing more we can do about it at the present," the Professor said finally.

"What are you talking about?" Jean blurted. "We can't just leave him with them!"

"We can't go and get him. We don't even know where the Brotherhood is."

"Pietro told us where they were in this note!" Jean replied, shaking the sheet of paper.

The Professor nodded patiently. "Yes. Where they were, not where they are. Even if the rest of them were there, they wouldn't remain, knowing that you've discovered their hideout."

Jean looked like she was going to protest further, but couldn't seem to come up with a valid retort.

"Pietro has left of his own volition," the Professor continued. "For now, we simply have to accept that. What we should focus on for the moment is that you are safe, and you are home."

"I'm - I'm sorry we left without telling you," Scott said, gripping balled fists tight to the legs of his uniform.

The Professor sat up a little straighter at that. "Yes. We'll discuss that further once you've had some rest."

Warren picked up a suggestion in Xavier's tone that there would be some form of punishment to follow. "I hope you won't be too harsh on them, Professor. If it weren't for them, I'd still be kidnapped."

The Professor smiled at him. "I'll make sure to remember it." He nodded at them all as a way of dismissal, and the three of them got up and filed into the foyer.

They trudged up the stairs toward their rooms. The weariness that Warren had been staving off came crashing around him like heavy waves.

Once they made it to the second story, Warren and Scott turned toward the boys section of the dorms.

"Warren, wait."

Warren turned back at the sound of Jean's voice.

She looked embarrassed that she'd said anything. He stared at her questioningly.

Jean glanced just over his shoulder. "Um, Scott?"

Warren turned to see that Scott had also tarried at the sound of Jean's voice. She continued, "Would you, uh, mind giving us . . . um, a minute alone?"

Scott didn't say anything in response, although Warren could have sworn he saw Scott's jaw tense. After a moment's hesitation, Scott spun and vanished down the hall.

Warren turned back to look at Jean. She blushed and looked down at her feet, and he was too tired to do much than wait quietly for her to say whatever was on her mind.

Finally, Jean spoke. "Warren . . . When I thought you were gone . . . I was so worried."

She looked up at him with sparkling green eyes. Her mouth moved as though searching for words she could not find.

Finally, she moved with a sudden burst of desperation and emotion. Before Warren knew what was happening, she was pressed against him, her hands wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his face into hers. Her soft lips pressed into his, parting slightly as she breathed into him a heavy sigh of relief.

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a great kiss. First kisses rarely are. But for Warren and Jean, in that moment, it was perfect.

* * *

The normal weekend schedule of the Xavier Institute had unsurprisingly been upturned by the events of the preceding night. Rather than training drills or studying, the students spent the better part of the day resting.

Charles went in the morning to retrieve Hank from the hospital. Charles was grateful to have a driver to transport him to and fro; he was far too tired to safely drive himself. Indeed, he dozed on the way from the Institute.

Hank was filled in on everything that had transpired. He, of course, had not known that Warren had also been attacked, and that he'd been abducted. He was dismayed to learn that Pietro had abandoned them for the very group that had left him injured. He seemed nearly as upset to hear that Jean and Scott had set out on a mission to retrieve Warren. Grateful, certainly, that the mission had ultimately been a success. His discontent spawned from a desire to have been there, too. To have helped.

Charles didn't need to be a mind-reader to see that Hank felt helpless, useless in the fight against the Brotherhood. He'd been reduced to a liability rather than an asset. And, with the recovery time for his broken nose still ahead of him, that didn't look to change in the near future - though they both agreed that the near future would hopefully feature no further assaults.

Charles also made sure to contact Agent Duncan before departing that morning. Duncan was understandably miffed that the situation had resolved itself despite him, and Charles couldn't help but feel the same, though undoubtedly for different reasons.

From Duncan's perspective, he'd had the reveal of Xavier's secret school dumped in his lap in the form of a late-night cry for help. After Duncan had bent over backwards to pull favors from his various contacts while keeping the secret, Xavier's students had gone off and solved the problem on their own. Now Duncan risked looking incompetent to his peers, and would have to run damage control to maintain the Institute's anonymity.

Charles silently listened to him rant about these inconveniences, before thanking him in earnest for continuing to maintain the secret. Indeed, the fact that Charles had felt forced to disclose it was now a dark cloud in his mind. He wished he could take it back, erase the memory from Duncan's mind and fade safely back into the shadows of obscurity.

Of course, Charles absolutely had the power to erase this from Duncan's mind. What he lacked was the ethical justification. As frustratingly needless as the reveal had turned out to be, the painful truth was that there was now no going back.

As soon as Duncan was finished chewing Charles out, he informed Charles that he would be visiting the Institute post-haste, and that they would be having a debriefing over what, exactly, Xavier thought he was up to.

And so, as the car left behind the tree-lined lane to the institute and pulled into the roundabout before the mansion's front doors, Charles was unsurprised to see a vehicle parked and waiting.

Marilyn Hannah greeted Charles and Hank at the door with the news that Charles had a visitor waiting on him in his office. Thanking her and sending them both on their way, Charles rolled to his office door.

He paused outside to steady his breathing and his nerves. This reunion could go in a lot of directions, and he wouldn't know which until it was already happening. He hoped that some of their old camaraderie might seep into the meeting and save him from the worst outcome. With that on his mind, he entered the room.

FBI Agent Fred Duncan rose at his entrance. He was impeccably dressed - Charles was sure he'd never been seen in anything but a suit - and his face was stern.

"Charles," he said simply, his voice impartial.

"Welcome, Agent Duncan." Charles made his way round behind his desk.

"Am I?" Duncan replied, arching an eyebrow. He remained standing.

Charles wasn't sure if this was a sincere inquiry or an expression of Duncan's discontent with the situation, but either way, the message was clear. "Of course you are."

Duncan nodded and settled back into the chair. "I'm a little skeptical of that, Charles. Elsewise, why were you hiding this from me? Why am I just finding out about this little project of yours, or whatever it is, when you need my help?"

Charles sighed. No use for anything now but honesty. "Agent Duncan -"

"Fred," Duncan interjected. "Or did you forget that we were friends?"

Xavier allowed a soft, sad smile. "Fred. I hadn't forgotten."

"Could've fooled me."

Fred was obviously upset. He hadn't raised his voice or changed his tone, but in his own way, he was letting Charles have it.

Charles sighed and met Fred's eyes with an apologetic gaze. "I'm sorry you feel that way, Fred. But I'd like to explain myself, and maybe we can start to mend that hurt."

Fred stared at him, arching an eyebrow again, this time in a "well, go on" manner.

So Charles did. He told Fred, in broad strokes, what had happened since they'd stopped working together, all those years ago. How Charles had taken the seeds planted by their shared mission and cultivated it into his own personal mission.

Charles knew that humanity had always met the presence of "the other" with fear and violence. Mutants were still unknown to most, relegated to urban legend alongside UFOs and Sasquatch. But the day was coming that the truth of their existence would be known, and fear, violence, and oppression would surely follow.

So Charles had cultivated the idea of creating a school. It would serve first as a safe place for young mutants, to protect them from the anger and danger of the population at large. But also it would help them to grow. Mutant abilities were powerful, sometimes dangerous or unpredictable. Young mutants would almost always have to learn how to use, control, and regulate their abilities.

Charles Xavier was uniquely poised to help them. With his access to money, technology, and telepathy, he could train young mutants to grow into safe, responsible members of society. They would grow to be living proof that mutants need not be feared. They could be trusted. They could contain their gifts and use them to help their fellow man.

Fred listened silently, showing little in the way of reaction or opinion. Once Charles stopped to catch his next thoughts, Duncan seized on the silence. "That's all well and good, Charles. And you might remember that we were working towards just such a goal, together, once. But you still haven't told me why you decided to go off on your own, and why you thought it was a good idea to hide all of this from me."

Charles nodded in understanding. "Yes. I can see how that sounds unnecessary. But I would note that our methods were not quite the same, then, as mine are now. And that you and I ended our partnership on terms that were less than amicable."

Fred ran a hand through his blonde hair, even though it was already slicked back and, as always, held in place with near medical precision. "Yeah, I remember that. Not sure if I agree with you on the first point."

"Surely you remember what happened with -"

"I remember," Fred said, holding up a hand to halt Xavier's interjection. "And I remember that we didn't see eye to eye on how to handle that situation. But I was in charge, and I made the call I made. That doesn't mean I don't agree with you on the rest of it."

"Doesn't it?" Charles countered, staring at Duncan coolly. "There was no sense of training or learning or rehabilitation in that."

"Alright, alright," Duncan said, sighing in exasperation. "I see what you're saying. I don't agree with it, but let's just move on. I still don't think you should have kept this from me, regardless of your reasoning, regardless of how you felt about our history together."

Charles nodded, an agreement to let that dispute lie. "Very well. But I stand by my decision. I couldn't have known how you would react, after how things ended and the time that's passed. Perhaps your attitude had changed. Perhaps your mission had continued, or grown in scope. Perhaps it had been spread to other members of the government."

Fred nodded. "Sure. Okay. Well, I have continued my work with mutants, although not in the same way. The whole team sort of fell apart all at once, as you'll recall." Charles nodded. "Far as I know, there are still only a few of us that know about mutants. In the FBI, at least; can't speak for the CIA or any of the other ones. Luckily, it's pretty unbelievable, and it's not hard to convince someone who may start to believe that they're buying into tinfoil hat theories."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief at that, and Duncan continued. "So I think I'm pretty much the only one pursuing that, and I haven't exactly met with much success since our project disbanded. Turns out, the Cerebro system was kind of a necessary detector. The technology has been altered and advanced since then, but it's still pretty limited without a telepath."

Charles folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "I don't want to spoil the good will we've built back here in these last few minutes, but part of the reason I hid it from you was to keep the government out of it. And I still feel those concerns, with you now in the know."

Fred pursed his lips as he mulled that one over. "Yeah, I hear you. To be honest, I don't want anyone else on this project, either. You'll remember I kept a lid on this thing back then, and I haven't changed my opinion on that."

Charles relaxed a little. "That does ease my concerns somewhat. But I fear that, even if you want to maintain the secret, too, your involvement compromises that. This is supposed to be a school. And while teaching my students to use their abilities safely, even to defend themselves, is part of my goals, I don't want this to turn into some sort of paramilitary training grounds."

Fred smiled at that. "That's exactly what will happen." Before Xavier could speak or become too appalled at that, Duncan continued, "And that's exactly why I chose to keep it a secret, then and now. Unlike many of my fellow government employees, I don't think the best use of every new discovery is to weaponize it. I think it's much safer to approach the mutant issue with care. We set this thing up right when it's revealed, and we're that much more likely to take the peaceful route instead of the armageddon one."

"My thoughts, exactly," Charles replied. The sense of relief he felt at Fred's sentiments could not be understated. However, Charles didn't want to let his guard down too much. The truth of the matter was still that Duncan was an experienced member of the intelligence community. Selling a lie was one of his most crucial and practiced skill sets.

Charles briefly debated himself on whether or not it was more moral to keep to his personal principle not to use his telepathy on another if at all possible, or if checking Duncan's sincerity for the safety of his students was the higher ground. But he didn't have time to come to a conclusion, because Duncan spoke again. "The unfortunate thing is, you may be on your way to a paramilitary organization whether you like it or not."

Charles was taken aback. The look on his face apparently transmitted this to Duncan clearly enough, for he continued. "What I mean is: You've just been attacked. And not just by anybody. By mutants. Some other group of mutants, with some sort of mission that seems to directly or indirectly involve assaulting your students. So now you're at an impasse: Do you turn up the dial on training your kids to fight, at the risk of generating mutant soldiers? Or do you leave them vulnerable?"

A chill ran down Xavier's spine. Fred's words rang true. Indeed, this very issue had haunted him since the first time the Brotherhood had made themselves known to his students.

Duncan opened his hands wide and shrugged. "What are you gonna do about it?"

Charles breathed for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Perhaps that's where your involvement in all this can come into play."

Another raised eyebrow, this one of interest. "Oh?"

"I can't be sure, but I have a suspicion. Very few people would know of this estate. Very few would know that I am a mutant, or be able to deduce that my bringing in charges and opening an Institute would be for the purposes of training up young mutants."

Charles could see in Duncan's eyes that he was starting to realize who Xavier was talking about.

"I think I know who is behind this," Charles said. "If I'm right, and he's decided to antagonize us . . ."

Fred Duncan swallowed. "Oh, God."

Charles Xavier couldn't have said it better himself.

* * *

Pietro didn't recognize his surroundings when they finally stepped out of the car.

It had been a long, quiet ride since they'd left the school. A ride during which Pietro had ached with roiling emotion.

Wanda, his sister, was back. He'd lost her, afraid that she was gone forever, fearing that she'd been killed. And then, suddenly, she was standing before him, alive and well.

Shock and joy had mingled together. She was gone, and then she was not. Wanda had been just as happy to see him, squeezing him in a tight embrace, bringing tears to his eyes to match her own.

Re-introductions were brief. Wanda said simply that Pietro should come with her. He didn't even have to consider it. Of course they should be together.

Pietro hadn't been able to conceal his shock when Wanda revealed that she was affiliated with the Brotherhood. To think that she was connected to this group that had antagonized Hank just weeks ago was as unexpected as her sudden appearance.

Wanda was adamant that Pietro withhold judgment on the Brotherhood. She asked him to trust her, and after all this time thinking her gone, all the guilt he felt, how could he say no?

But he couldn't just vanish. After the kindness of the Professor, and the friendship Jean had extended him, simply disappearing would be too much of a betrayal.

Luckily, Wanda had no objections to him making a quick errand before his departure. With his incredible speed, he ran to the Xavier Institute and left a note in Jean's room. As he laid the note on her pillow, he paused. Jean had been kind to him. Would she be hurt by his departure?

But Wanda was family. No matter how friendly Jean and the others had been, and how much - he was surprised that he'd never realized it before - that friendship had meant to him, his family had to come first.

And so it was that he now found himself here - wherever here was. He'd returned to Wanda. She'd directed him to a waiting car. Inside, the dark tint of the windows made the night outside an invisible blackness. Passing lights were but dim ghosts floating past.

Pietro's inhuman speed had one major downside, distorting the passage of time. Counting seconds was like counting months, and Pietro could never summon the patience to do so for any significant period of time. So he couldn't even begin to guess at how long they'd been in the car by the time they arrived at their destination.

They were in front of an old victorian house. The street was dark, a sleepy residential area with only the occasional porch lamp to add to the dim moonlight. The house looked like it had been aged for some time without care. It was not derelict or decaying, but signs of neglect were beginning to appear on its facade.

Wanda silently led him up the path from the sidewalk, through a yard that could use some care, up a staircase of chipping white paint, to the front door. This she opened with the nonchalance of familiarity. Pietro noted that the door had been unlocked. Perhaps they were expected. Or perhaps the inhabitants had nothing to fear.

Inside, the space had the gently disused look of the exterior. There were some decorations and furniture, and some indentations or dust outlines indicating that there had once been such. There were also signs that the space was being lived in. A bit of mess here and there, some wrappers from fast food, all pointed to occupancy. A slight scent of mold hovered with the dust in the air.

But nobody was to be seen. Pietro, finally snapping from his reverie, decided to break the silence. "What is this place?"

Wanda smiled. "This is where we've been staying."

"The Brotherhood? But what about - ?"

"The other address?" Wanda cut in. "An outpost, of sorts. This, though, is our main base."

Pietro pursed his lips at her militaristic terminolog. He thought he might ask her about it but she began to speak again.

"I believe the Blob and the Toad have gone to there." She shook her head. "A silly errand. They still think like street thugs when the Brotherhood asks them to be so much more."

Pietro's ears perked up at both of those names. "Are they the other members of the Brotherhood?"

Another smile from his sister. God, it was such a relief to see her alive, and smiling. He almost didn't hear her answer for the joy of it. "No. Of course there is me as well. And another - an older man. He traffics in illusions." Her voice dropped at this, and she shuddered. "I never cared for him."

Pietro's eyes widened. "Only four members?"

"We are only just beginning," Wanda replied. "Like your little group at Xavier's. A small beginning for something much larger, we hope."

She paused, and began leading him up the staircase to the second floor. Dusty old carpet softened their footfalls. "There is one other," she said at last.

"One other member of the Brotherhood?"

"Member, perhaps. He is the one who brought us together. Who began the Brotherhood. He is our leader. And, he is the man who saved me." She stopped at the second floor landing, looking back at Pietro with passionate, watery eyes. "He is the man to whom I owe my life."

Pietro swallowed. So Wanda had a life-debt. Suddenly what he knew of the Brotherhood and what he knew of Wanda were not in such conflict with each other. "Who is this man?" he said at last.

"He is who we are here to meet," she replied softly. She turned and lead him yet again, this time down the darkened hallway lined with closed doors. At the end was a single door facing them. When they reached it, she knocked gently.

With hardly a delay, the door unlatched itself and swung open. Pietro would have marveled at this but was already being ushered into the room by his sister.

The room inside was dark, as well. Pietro could make out a desk and chair before double windows. The desk was covered with papers, including some which looked like the large pages of an atlas or seemed to be aerial photographs. If there was much else in the room, Pietro couldn't make it out clearly in the deep blackness of shadow. There were no lights on in the room nor in the hallway behind them.

The only light came from the large double windows, with no curtains or blinds to block the moonlight streaming through them. And beside the window, almost a silhouette with only some features illuminated by the moon, the figure of a large man.

"Hello, Pietro," said the man. He turned from gazing out the window to face them. He seemed to be wearing some sort of cape that shimmered in an unnatural rhythm. Light glinted off the cape and the man's clothing as he moved, and Pietro marked a quiet sound like the gentle scraping of metal on metal.

"I'm so glad you could join us," the man said, a faint accent. Some sort of European.

Pietro couldn't explain it, but he felt fear. Not a mortal fear of being harmed or killed, but the fear of awe - of being in the presence of power and position far greater than his own. His mouth was dry as he said, "Who - who are you?"

The figure nodded, and the light glinting on the rounded shape of his head suggested that he was wearing some sort of helmet. "Indeed, we have much to discuss." The figure extended a hand to the side, and from that darkened wall a chair slid forth. It stopped just behind Pietro, and the man motioned for him to sit.

He did, and the man nodded ever so slightly. "Indeed, introductions are in order, especially since I already know your name. As Wanda has undoubtedly told you, I am the leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants. You may call me Magneto."

* * *

 **Next Time:** A day at the beach

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	11. Victory and Reward

Thank you to blueandie and Le Faucon Bleu for taking the time to review!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Charles Xavier has created an Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety and secrecy. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

After being attacked by The Brotherhood, Scott, Hank, Jean, and Warren have returned to the Institute. Warren and Jean's burgeoning relationship has grown stronger through the ordeal. Charles has reconnected with his old colleague, FBI Agent Fred Duncan. The two share concerns over the suspected leader of The Brotherhood. Meanwhile, Pietro, having joined The Brotherhood to be with his sister, Wanda, is introduced to their leader - a man named Magneto.

* * *

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **11**

 **Victory and Reward**

Scott ducked, and the bludgeon ruffled his hair as it whooshed right over his head.

"Well done, Scott!" Hank called as he bounded past. With a jovial cry, Hank leapt into the air, catapulting himself far above another bludgeoning instrument. As he reached the apex of his leap, the ceiling released yet another mechanical arm which swung to smash into him and knock him back to the ground.

"Hank! Look out!"

But Hank was already hurtling through the air. There was no way for him to change his trajectory.

Suddenly, he halted in mid-air, as though he'd landed on a soft but firm vertical surface. At the same time, a cry came from behind Scott. He twisted to see Jean, her face strained, her arms up and her hands outstretched toward Hank like she was grasping at him.

She'd stopped him with her telekinetic powers, a feat that surprised and impressed Scott. He knew that her abilities were limited to a strength roughly that of her physical strength, and Hank was much too heavy and had been moving much too fast for her to have stopped him with her body. She must have been training since their encounter with The Brotherhood.

Unfortunately, though she'd stopped Hank from slamming into the mechanical arm, she hadn't moved him out of its path - and the look on her face said it was all she could do to hold him there.

From off to the side, what seemed to be a human-sized bullet rocketed into view. The figure's standard black and yellow uniform was accented by wings of white.

In the blink of an eye, Warren had snagged Hank and was flying away. The metal arm completed its deadly arc, thrashing uselessly against the air.

Scott turned back to look again at Jean. Now relieved of her telekinetic burden, she sagged with sudden weariness. And in that same instant, another bludgeoning arm rose from the shifting metal Danger Room floor, just behind her, ready to strike.

"Jean! Behind you!" Scott yelled.

She heard him, but seemed too drained to react quickly enough. Warren had dropped Hank back down to the ground, but they were both too far away to account for this new threat.

There was only one option - one that Scott was still not accustomed to. He lifted his hand to the side of the protective ruby-quartz visor he wore over his eyes. There was a dial for intensity and a button for release - two things he'd forced himself to finally become acquainted with since The Brotherhood attacked.

He aimed, adjusting the intensity with a light brush of his fingertip and pressed the button. With a sound of crackling energy, a red beam of light burst forth from his visor. Faster than the eye could see, it struck its target. Despite the visor's intensity setting on low, the force was enough to rip the metal arm from its base and send it flying in the opposite direction.

The devastating energy blast shooting just past her roused Jean from her stupor. She looked at Scott with wide eyes, surprised yet grateful.

Scott wanted to share that moment with her, to say something or for her to say something. But now wasn't the time, so he simply nodded. "We're almost there!" he barked to all three of his teammates.

Jean nodded back. She moved to run, but stumbled instead. In a flash, Hank was there.

"Allow me, my dear."

Scooping her up as easily as lifting a book or a glass, Hank swept Jean into his arms and leapt back whence he came, seemingly without effort. Jean patted his shoulder in appreciation. Scott turned to run as well, and saw Warren flying that way too.

They were only feet from the doorway that signified them making it to the opposite end of the Danger Room. So far, none of them had succeeded save for Scott, and their team drills had always ended in failure. They'd never been this close to winning.

Warren crossed the threshold, cementing this as a first for the team. That left Scott running and Hank and Jean leaping close behind him.

Scott could see the finish line. He would reach it in five strides. Four. Three! Two!

He pitched forward. The floor beneath his feet had literally slid to move him away from the exit. He lost his balance, slamming hard on hands and knees.

He saw Hank make an inhuman leap to clear another sliding floor panel. He sailed through the air, landing lightly with Jean still in his arms - just over the finish line.

Scott was the only one left. He scrambled to his feet, but the floor panel was still moving, leaving a gaping hole between him and victory. No longer was he a footfall from finishing. Now, he wouldn't be able to jump the distance without a mutant ability akin to Hank's.

Despair surged in him as the finish line receded from view. For the first time ever, the entire team had made it across the Danger Room - except for him. He would be the only failure, a black mark on the team's first success. He could see Hank and Jean looking with despair at him across the impregnable gulf.

But then, a figure appeared before him. It was Warren!

His hand was outstretched, reaching for Scott. "Come with me if you want to live."

Scott didn't even have time to roll his eyes. He grasped Warren's hand, and his stomach shot to his throat as Warren wheeled about and flew across the gap at breathtaking speed. Scott was hardly aware they'd crossed the finish line until he caught his breath several seconds later.

Once Scott regained his senses, he noticed that the cacophony of mechanical whirring had died away. The Danger Room speakers buzzed to life, and the voice of Professor Charles Xavier rang out, "Congratulations, everyone! You've done it!"

Scott could barely believe it. They'd tried the Danger Room challenge so many times. So far, the only time any of them had made it across was when he'd attempted it alone, and even then, it had only happened the one time.

Hank loped over to Scott as he was picking himself up from the ground. Clapping a huge hand on Scott's shoulder, Hank said, "A magnificent display, Scott! I never imagined such brilliance!"

Scott realized that Hank was the last member of Xavier's remaining students not to have seen his optic blast. He rubbed the back of his neck, not knowing what to say.

Luckily, Hank wanted to make rounds to the others. He pulled off the face-mask that he wore to protect his broken nose and bounded to Warren.

"Thanks for the save back there," Jean said.

Scott looked at his feet. His face felt hot for some reason. "It was nothing."

"You've never used it in the Danger Room before. Why the change?"

"I didn't want to use it against The Brotherhood, but they didn't leave us any choice. I figure if I find myself in that kind of situation again, it's better for me to know how to use my power than to just blast away." Plus, he'd gotten lucky. The Brotherhood members he'd blasted had been illusory and invulnerable. Future assailants may not have such advantages, and Scott's power was too dangerous to use unchecked.

"Makes sense." She smiled, making her eyes twinkle like emeralds. "Well I appreciate it."

"What about you?" Scott said. "I thought you couldn't lift heavy objects with your powers, but you stopped Hank as he was flying through the air."

Jean shrugged, a conspiratorial smirk on her face. "I've been working out."

Scott couldn't help but grin back at her. He felt like he should say something else, but then Warren came up to him.

"Nice plan back there, Scott," he said.

"It wouldn't have worked without you. You totally saved me."

"It was nothing," Warren said with a smile, though his eyes darted to the side. Scott could feel it, too: The tension of their past relationship still hung between them like a heavy curtain. They'd been making nice with each other since Warren's rescue, but the ghost of their rivalry still echoed around them.

Scott broke the spell. "Well, I still appreciate it. You got us this win."

Warren seemed almost struck by this. He smiled and nodded gratefully.

Professor Xavier appeared across the room, on the end where they'd started. He must have come down from the control and observation room at the completion of the test. He was beckoning them over.

They chattered excitedly as they crossed the large, now empty expanse of the Danger Room. The Professor smiled a congratulatory smile while holding up a hand to quiet them down.

"Congratulations," he said. "I'm very proud of you. Each of you, individually, has worked hard to overcome the challenge of the Danger Room. More importantly, what you exhibited today was teamwork. Your trust and care for each other is what allowed you to succeed."

The students broke into more excited chatter, but Professor Xavier quieted them once more. "Given the recent stresses that you've all endured at the hands of The Brotherhood, plus your success in the Danger Room today, and with your Fall Break from school starting next week, I have a surprise for you all: I will be taking you all on a beach vacation."

Excited chatter exploded once again, even more fervently, and this time the Professor simply smiled and enjoyed the enthusiasm of his charges.

* * *

Fall had already brought its chill to the air of Westchester, so Warren was jubilant to arrive at the beach. The day was warm but not hot. The sun shining down from a cloudless blue sky caressed his skin, warming him like a cozy blanket.

They all chattered excitedly as they made their way across the sun-soaked sand to the inviting blue waves of the Atlantic. Cool ocean breeze carried the clean scent of salt water.

Professor Xavier had stayed behind at the hotel, just across the road from the beach. He claimed he'd rather enjoy a book on the balcony than navigate the beach sand in his wheelchair.

That suited the kids just fine. The Professor was by no means a burdensome presence, but his absence still made them feel more free to be themselves.

This was somewhat ironic in the case of Warren. He couldn't fully be himself on the beach - not without revealing the fact that he was a mutant with giant, white-feathered wings.

While the others stripped down to their bathing suits, Warren was forced to keep his shirt on. He compromised with a button-up shirt with a few buttons undone, allowing it to billow gently in the breeze. Too much, though, and it would reveal the harness beneath, or the wings that his harness held tight against his body.

It was a definite damper on the beach vacation for him. He couldn't really participate with the others, couldn't fully relax, couldn't truly be himself. Plus, the harness left his wings stiff and tingling.

He'd considered staying behind like the Professor, but the call of the sun and the sea was too great. Even with his stunted enjoyment of the day, he still couldn't help but feel happy and relaxed to be there.

He reclined on a towel as the others ran off to frolic in the surf. He watched them easily, but when Scott and Jean splashed water at each other, laughing uproariously, he couldn't fight away the tension that crept up on him.

He liked Jean. They'd kissed after his rescue from The Brotherhood. Warren thought of her as a girlfriend, even if neither of them had used that term.

Since the early days of his interest in her, he'd felt suspicious whenever she spent time with Scott. It was hard to pinpoint why, but Warren felt jealousy well up in him like an ugly monster when he thought of Scott and Jean. Though he'd never been able to point to anything in particular that Scott had done or said, he still felt frustrated and defensive about it. This had translated to a feud between the two of them - one which was, admittedly, started by Warren and based on these unspecified feelings.

Since Scott had helped to rescue him, he'd tried to turn over a new leaf. He vowed to be nicer, more friendly, more understanding. And it had worked. They hadn't been at each other's throats at all since then, and the tension between the two of them had all but evaporated.

Unfortunately, the tension within Warren had remained. Despite the continued absence of something specific he could object to, and though he and Jean had become closer since then, he just couldn't shake that feeling of jealousy.

All of this stormed inside of him, reminding him that he was separated from the others at this moment.

It wasn't the only thing he felt jealous of, either. As mutants, they each had amazing abilities. They could do things no normal human could do, things that were amazing. Like most kids, Warren had been into superheroes when he was growing up. When he'd joined Xavier's Institute, he suddenly felt like superheroes could be real - and that he could be one of them.

The Institute had little interest in empowering its students to be some kind of super-powered team defending or avenging the general populace. Warren's disappointment had been stifled by the understanding his superhero fantasies to be just that - fantasy.

Then Scott and Jean had ventured out to use their powers against other super-powered individuals - undeniably evil ones, to have attacked high school students and kidnapped someone - to rescue a helpless captive. Warren resented that he'd played the captive in that scenario, while Scott and Jean got to be real life superheroes.

It left Warren wondering how he might be able to use his special abilities to do the same thing. Scott and Jean hadn't exactly returned to accolades from the Professor for their exploits, but that didn't put Warren off of the idea.

After all, Xavier's whole raison d'être was for them to learn to use their abilities for the betterment of mankind. Sure, he mostly focused on controlling them and filtering them to positive uses - but wouldn't helping people fall under that umbrella?

His reverie was interrupted when people nearby on the beach started screaming.

The breeze from the ocean muffled the sound. Warren whipped his head about to pinpoint the source of the sound.

Several people were backing away from someone on the beach. Some had even turned to run. Warren looked out to the waves where his friends were. He caught Jean's gaze - they'd heard it, too.

Warren started toward the source of the problem. More people were starting to run. Whatever it was they were running from was obscured from his view; there were too many people in the way.

"What is it?!" someone cried as he pushed past.

"Is he sick or something?"

"So gross!"

"It's like _Alien_!"

Warren was feeling panic well up in him too, as he approached the source of the confusion, still unable to see it. Jean and the others had rushed forward as he had, and they came up alongside him now.

"Did you see what's going on?" Jean asked him.

Warren shook his head. Their angle hadn't yielded any more visibility than his. He continued forward, the three of them right behind him. He had to push past some people who were crowding around.

There were screams all around, now, as more and more people ran in fear. And mixed with those screams of fear was another - a scream of pain.

Finally, Warren broke through. A man crouched over a boy. The boy was curled up, clutching his head and writhing. The screams of agony that Warren had heard were coming from him.

The man partially shielded the boy from view. He looked up at the crowd around them with wild, terrified eyes that shined with tears. "Help us, someone! Somebody help my son!"

Warren was about to speak up, to say that he and his friends could help, but his words caught in his throat.

The man had shifted, and Warren had a better view of the boy as he writhed on the ground. Now Warren understood the cause of the panic, and of the boy's agonized screaming.

On the boy's back, his shoulder blades were writhing unnaturally, like something underneath the skin was trying to break through. With a meaty, tearing noise, the nubs broke through the skin. Blood and viscera flowed from the wounds, coloring the protrusions.

But Warren wasn't fooled. He could tell that, underneath the red ooze, they would see feathers. White feathers.

Warren couldn't breathe.

This boy was growing wings.

* * *

 **Next Time:** The boy on the beach

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	12. An Invitation

Thank you to blueandie, Chloee0x0, Superfan44, Le Faucon Bleu, and TheLifeStruggleIsREAL for reviewing, messaging, or leaving Kudos. It means so much to me.

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Charles Xavier has created an Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety and secrecy. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

After a harrowing ordeal involving Warren's kidnapping and Pietro's defection, things have started to return to normal at Xavier's Institute. While running a team Danger Room drill, the four remaining students finally, for the first time, managed to complete the challenge successfully. As a reward, Xavier took his students on a trip to the beach. However, a relaxing day took a turn when a young boy began crying out, causing a panic - and growing wings.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **12**

 **An Invitation**

"A mutant?"

The boy's father looked wide-eyed at Professor Xavier. He was twisting the boy's discarded shirt in his hands so hard that it would twist no further. From his face, he probably didn't even realize he was doing it.

"That's right," Xavier replied, his tone measured and soothing. "If you'll please have a seat, I can explain to you what this means - and what we may do about it."

They were in Professor Xavier's hotel room. All things considered, the trip from the beach to the hotel had been swift, but it had been such an ordeal that the students felt they'd run a gruelling marathon.

It was Jean who'd realized it first: They couldn't just leave the boy there to grow wings on the beach in front of God and everybody - not if they could do anything about it. Most people didn't know about mutants, but there were rumors, stories, urban legends. A beach full of people all seeing these wings sprout may be enough to tip the scales of public perception.

Even more important, the boy seemed to be terrified and in pain. The thought of abandoning him had rankled her, and she'd guessed that Professor Xavier might be able to assist with whatever was happening. He was, after all, a self-styled expert on mutants and mutation. Assuming that was what this was, she mobilized her friends and the boy's father to help hoist him up.

Moving him had proven difficult. The kid was writhing and screaming. Beachgoers, the ones who hadn't fled, were gathered round in a gossiping, rubbernecking circle. The five of them inadvertently jostled one another as they tried to maintain a hold on the thrashing boy, while the sand shifted unevenly beneath their feet.

They'd somehow managed to push past the crowd, away from the beach. They had to cross a road to get to the hotel. It was a two laned street lined with hotels, motels, and beach homes, set off any main thoroughfare. Luckily, this made traffic sparse and slow moving, so they crossed easily.

The receptionist at the front desk had been alarmed at their entry. The kid was still shrieking and writhing. Several hotel employees had risen and begun to approach.

"It's okay!" Jean shouted, her mind racing for an explanation. "He's fine! He's - uh - he's just having an allergic reaction!"

The hotel staff had bought it, relaxing and coming no closer. Jean and the others finally made it to Xavier's room and found him waiting for them. The distress of the boy had apparently been so palpable that he'd been alerted psychically while they were still on the beach.

The boy's father was desperate and afraid, asking a torrent of questions. The Professor simply asked that he be patient. He placed his hands on the boy's head, closed his eyes, and fell silent.

After a time, the boy started to relax and lie still. He had now grown full wings, spread limply to either side of his back. They looked exactly like Warren's.

Jean looked at Warren. He was staring grimly at the boy, as were Scott and Hank. She wondered if his wings had erupted in so dramatic and painful a way. They'd never discussed the manifestation of their abilities with one another. Jean wondered now if this was why.

Once the boy seemed to be sleeping calmly, Professor Xavier had finally turned to his father - Ronald, he introduced himself - and decreed that the boy was likely a mutant. He explained that this meant his son had some sort of ability that would set him apart from the average human. He explained that mutants were a small but very real segment of the world population, and that he and his students were all mutants as well.

"Warren, if you please?" the Professor said, beckoning Warren closer. "Perhaps you can show Ronald that his son will be alright."

Jean must have been having a slow day, because she didn't pick up on the Professor's meaning. Warren, however, apparently understood what was being asked. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it to reveal his own wings strapped tight to his sides by his harness.

Ronald seemed not to know how to react. He simply stared, as Warren released his wings and stretched them to their full span. They stretched wide, touching opposite walls of the hotel room. Jean couldn't discern Ron's face; was it wonder? Confusion? Horror?

"This - this is a lot to take in," Ronald said at last, exhaling heavily.

"I understand," Xavier replied. "It is usually hard for us, when our abilities first manifest. That hardship often entangles our families and friends, for better or worse."

"What can I do? How can I help him?"

"You can help him in the way that all parents help their children - by loving him anyway. Let him know that you are there for him, that you support him in this struggle and that you share it with him."

Jean thought of her own parents, back home in Annandale-on-Hudson. They had been reluctant to let her go, but had wanted the best for her. She smiled.

She cast a quick glance at the boys. Warren's back was to her, but Scott and Hank both looked down, their faces tense.

 _Of course_ , she thought. _Scott's an orphan._ Talking about parental love and involvement was likely a sore spot for him. Though Jean wasn't sure why Hank had the same dark look on his face. She didn't really know anything about his life before the Institute.

"There is also something else that can be of help to the boy," the Professor continued. "These children with me are all mutants, as I've said, but they are also my students. I have an Institute in upstate New York for gifted youngsters. For people like your son."

Ronald still looked like he was hearing only every third word. "Calvin, he's - he's never been an A student."

Professor Xavier smiled. "That's not the type of gifted I mean. Your son _is_ gifted - in other ways. And at the Institute, I can help him learn how to control his gifts, to use them for good."

Ronald stared in silence at Charles, his mouth working silently, turning his thoughts over and over, trying to determine what he should do.

* * *

"A new student?"

It was a few days later. Charles and his students had returned to the Institute. Ronald had phoned several times, struggling with the fact that mutants existed and his son was one of them. Struggling with the thought of sending his son away to a boarding school. Struggling with the weight of fatherhood.

Charles was certain he would ultimately send Calvin to them, and soon. He understood that Ronald may need a few days to come round to the idea of an empty house. But the man had struck him as deeply devoted to Calvin's safest, happiest outcome. And Charles had spoken much of the Institute, to convince him that it would give Calvin what he needed.

Hoping to preempt any further accusations of secrecy, Charles had decided to phone Agent Fred Duncan to inform him of this likely new ward. Duncan's tone said that he wasn't thrilled, and Charles thought ruefully to himself that he might as well have said nothing.

"And where, pray tell, did you dig this one up?" Duncan asked. His exasperation was so palpable it could have been a physical presence in Charles's office.

"We encountered him, quite by accident," Charles replied, unable to stop himself from sounding curt.

"You understand why I'm not thrilled with this news, right? Your students were _just_ attacked by a mysterious, antagonistic group of hostile mutants. The Worthington kid was kidnapped, another kid was injured, the school was damaged by another of your kids during a dance full of non-mutant children. Your students barely made it back to you. In fact, one of them didn't even come back! It could have been a lot worse than it was - especially if we're right about who it is that's behind all this."

"I recognize all that."

"I'm concerned that you don't. So it doesn't _thrill_ me to hear that you're bringing another young person into a potentially dangerous environment."

"I am doing everything in my power to protect my students," Charles responded in a huff.

"Charles, I respect what you're trying to do with this Institute. I believe in the idea of protecting these kids, teaching them how to handle themselves and their crazy abilities. But you can't honestly ask me to agree that your students are safe there, the way things are now."

Charles was so mortified, so outraged, that he couldn't muster a response.

Duncan sighed. "Harsh. Too harsh, I know. I'm sorry Charles, I am. But you're oh-for-one." Again, Charles was silent, so Duncan continued. "Not you. Not you, Charles. Us. This is on me, too. I've taken responsibility, here. We're working together on this. We're both to blame."

Though still reeling from the heavy truth Duncan had just laid at his feet, Charles smiled faintly at Duncan's subsequent assumption of responsibility. "Alright, Duncan. But you can't seriously ask me to turn this boy away."

"You can't seriously be suggesting that you're going to house every stray mutant teenager out there. I'm pretty sure even your considerable resources aren't up to that magnitude."

Charles rested his head in his hand, suddenly weary. "Duncan, I understand that it's not feasible or even possible to help every mutant child. There are too many, and there will be continually more. Some will need my help, some my protection, some neither. I can't say I'll always know the difference. I can't say I'll always find the ones who need me. But I want to do my best. And this boy, right now, needs help."

It was Duncan's turn to mull things over in silence. Finally: "We still don't know about The Brotherhood. It's irresponsible to bring another kid into this environment before we've solved that problem."

"It could be irresponsible to leave a mutant child with potentially dangerous abilities out in society without help or resources."

Duncan sighed, long and deep. "You're not going to back down on this, are you?"

"I don't intend to, no."

"I'm not happy about this."

"I'm not doing it for you."

This earned a sudden cough of a laugh from Duncan. "Alright, alright. Touché. But keep in mind that my part in all of this is to make sure that your Institute stays a secret. No civilians. None of my coworkers here at the FBI, or any other part of the government. Mutants are a silly legend, nothing more, and that's the way it's gonna be."

"I agree that's for the best."

"So try to keep the wings out of the papers, would you?"

Charles winced. There had been some grainy, blurred, out of focus photos taken of Calvin growing wings on the beach. They'd made the local paper and the local nightly news. Luckily, the story had been laughed at by pretty much anyone who wasn't there in person. It was an elaborate hoax, a silly edited photograph. People who were there had seen things. Maybe it was some sort of prank show or flash mob pulling a stunt. The local story never went any further. It faded before twenty-four hours had passed.

So Charles was quite unnerved to find that Duncan already knew about it. He'd hoped this little episode would fade to obscurity without Duncan's involvement. In fact, aside from him learning about it somehow, it had indeed vanished without his help.

Or had it?

Charles didn't have time to ponder the sudden thought that Duncan was directly responsible for generating and stoking the rational explanations that put this whole thing to bed, because Duncan was speaking again.

"So what's this kid's deal? He's got wings, too, like the Worthington boy?"

"Well, I haven't had a chance to properly examine and test him, but he did grow wings, yes. Among other things."

"What other things?"

"He also grew larger. Not by much, but it was noticeable."

Duncan said nothing, though the message was clear: _go on._

"His hands and feet," Charles continued. "They grew larger. Abnormally large. And he seemed to put on some muscle mass right before our eyes."

"That sounds like another one of your kids."

"Yes, it does. I sent my students away, across town, while I continued to work with the boy and his father. The boy was unconscious at the time, but I was able to probe his mind to a limited extent. A few minutes after my students departed, Calvin's wings shriveled and vanished back into his back. His muscles atrophied to their previous size. His hands and feet shrunk to what they were before."

"Okay. So he manifested some sort of physical mutations, but then they went away because, what, he was unconscious?"

"No," Charles shook his head. "Again, I haven't had the chance to truly test my theory, I've only made some preliminary observations. But I think Calvin's mutant ability does little, perhaps nothing, in isolation. He doesn't truly have a unique ability of his own. He mimics."

* * *

 **Next Time:** New kid on the block

* * *

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	13. Out with the Old

Thank you to Chloee0x0, blueandie, Le Faucon Bleu, and Mini Wolfsbane for taking the time to review! I really appreciate it! And thank you to everyone who left kudos!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Charles Xavier has created the Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety, their existence kept secret. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

After an attack from The Brotherhood, a rival group of mutants, and Pietro's defection to them, Professor Xavier took his students on a beach trip to help them relax. Their vacation was interrupted when they discovered a new mutant, a boy named Calvin, whose powers - the ability to mimic the powers of others - were just manifesting. They extended an offer to join the Xavier Institute as a new student.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **13**

 **Out with the Old**

There had been a buzz in the air for the past week.

Ever since they'd discovered Calvin, the new mutant, excitement had filled their every minute. The initial terror and tension felt had faded against the overwhelming anticipation of his arrival at the Xavier Institute.

The Professor had told them very shortly after their return to the mansion that Calvin would be joining them as a new member of the Institute for Gifted Youngsters. This had never happened before, and it was like Christmas was coming early.

Well, Jean realized that it actually had happened. She wasn't sure what order or how quick in succession the boys had been recruited by Xavier, but she had arrived last of his original five students. The guys had seemed similarly excited for her arrival as they all were now for Calvin's.

Thinking of that day brought a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over her. That had been the day that everything changed. She already knew she could move things with her mind, but that was when she put the word - telekinesis - onto it. More importantly, that was the day she'd had the word "mutant" put onto her.

Indeed, she'd first learned of the existence of mutants then. Despite spending time before her arrival in private therapy sessions with Professor Xavier, mutants had never been mentioned until he'd discussed it with her then.

She had, admittedly, remembered hearing some wild stories, hearing the word "mutant" before then. But they were always told and received with the same level of belief as bigfoot - a fun little story to be told, laughed at, and casually discarded.

That, as she had learned that day, was one of the purposes of Xavier's Institute - to sustain the secret. She and her classmates could use and explore their abilities here in safety and secrecy. Best to keep it that way, rather than risk a dangerous, possibly violent backlash from the population at large.

That's what they had done. Or, at least, had been doing. Jean wasn't so sure now how much they were adhering to this ideal.

Her doubts had been born the night of homecoming. The Brotherhood attack had shaken her to her core. Only months after learning that mutants were real, and that she was one of them, she learned that they were also dangerous.

It seemed silly in hindsight not to realize this. Each of her fellow students' abilities could be dangerous in different ways and situations; the Professor himself was supposedly a very powerful telepath. But they were all gathered together under a banner of self-control, under the idea that mutants could be a boon to society. They were going to fight hatred and discrimination by showing the world at large that mutants could use their gifts for the benefit of all.

Then Toad had appeared and accosted Hank about this very goal. His philosophy was that the humans would never accept them, that the very foundational idea of the Institute was flawed. Jean had rejected this idea outright, but Toad's appearance, and his allusion to the rest of the Brotherhood, had left her with an uneasy feeling.

So when they were attacked suddenly at homecoming, it had left Jean feeling shaken deep down to her soul. Suddenly The Brotherhood wasn't just some group with slightly different beliefs. They had evolved into what they truly were: Antagonistic, dangerous mutants with a grudge against Professor Xavier's students.

Hank had been injured, Warren captured, and Scott and Jean attacked by what, in hindsight, seemed like illusions, but had certainly felt very real. That was also the first time that Jean saw Scott use his ability. The first time she learned that opposing mutants weren't the only ones with devastating, terrifying abilities.

And then there was Pietro. From the moment they'd met, he'd been standoffish. In fact, he'd seemed to intentionally keep a wall between himself and the other students. Jean had become determined to break through this wall. Whatever was holding him back from them was also holding them all back from being friends and working more seamlessly as a team.

She'd made an apparent breakthrough when Pietro had agreed to accompany them to the Homecoming game and dance. It had felt like such a victory. She could see that he'd wanted to resist, had wanted to say no - and had overcome it.

This was the first step. Soon they would all be fast friends. Soon he would no longer be closed-off and elusive. She had broken through, and their relationship with him would forever change.

She'd been right about their relationship changing. Just not in the way she'd been hoping.

Pietro disappearing at the game had hurt her deeply. All her hopes for what was to come had been dashed against the rocks. But then she learned that he had not simply reneged on his promise to her. He was gone.

Even worse, he hadn't simply disappeared. To an extent, him vanishing without an explanation would have made some sense. It would have been in line with his resistance toward them as friends and as a team. The wall would have been understandable. He was just trying to make up his mind about them, and he had.

But this was much more painful. He hadn't just deserted them. He'd abandoned them to join up with the group that attacked, injured, and kidnapped them that very night. Even though he didn't seem to be directly involved in said attack, the fact that he would join that group at all, and that he hadn't returned to the Institute upon learning of their actions, was a deep, personal wound.

Now they were waiting on the arrival of a new student, and despite feeling excited at the prospect, Jean couldn't help but also feel that Pietro was being replaced. Sure, the Institute could hold far more than five students, and so Calvin's arrival didn't technically say anything about their ability to find Pietro and bring him back. But if they were going to look for him, why hadn't they already begun?

Perhaps the most upsetting aspect of all of this was Professor Xavier. He'd told them that Pietro was gone of his own free will and that they should accept it for the time being.

But Jean didn't accept it. Pietro had made a promise to her, and she wanted answers. She had started laying the foundation of a friendship with him, and she felt bound by that to do something.

And she felt afraid. Afraid of the idea that, should another of them leave, for whatever reason, whatever circumstance, that they would be disregarded as casually as Pietro had been.

It made her think of the Professor a different way, and she didn't like it. He'd always been a source of knowledge and wisdom. He knew the right thing to do, and he did it. She'd looked up to him for that, ever since they'd met - though she hadn't realized it. His dream was good, and so was he.

But now he'd staked his position on letting Pietro go, and Jean just couldn't go along with that. It felt wrong. It left her stomach in knots. It made her feel like a bad person.

She wanted to talk to him about it. Surely if she stated her case, he would see her logic, be swayed by her passion, her moral compass.

But she had doubts too: Maybe he knew something she didn't, something he couldn't share. Maybe he had his own moral justifications, and she would be the one who was swayed.

Worst of all, maybe they just wouldn't see eye to eye. Maybe she would put herself out there and he would turn her down whole cloth. She was afraid of what she would feel if that happened. What she might do. If she could ever look at the Professor the same way again.

It was much safer not to bring it up with him. Even despite her private objection with this current course of inaction, the possibility of permanently ruining her perception of the Professor stayed her hand.

But it did not keep the thoughts from eating away at her. It didn't stop her from wanting to talk about it with someone, or from considering what she might be driven to do about it.

So, in spite of the excitement hanging in the air regarding Calvin's impending arrival, Jean looked to Warren and asked if they could have a private talk nearby.

Warren was a really handsome guy, and he and Jean had hit it off nearly from the start. They'd become much closer ever since Warren had been kidnapped by The Brotherhood. The idea that he could so suddenly be taken from her had made her passionate to hold onto him. He seemed to feel the same toward her; feelings stoked, she suspected, by the fact that she'd been the one to lead the charge on his rescue.

Once they'd stolen away to a deserted area of the mansion, Warren's eyes shone with nervous energy. The faint beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips, and his gaze had a hopeful expectancy to it.

He probably thought she'd pulled him away to kiss him. Their first kiss - with each other, or with anyone else - had been upon their return to the mansion from Warren's capture. It had been a physical manifestation of the desperate fear and overwhelming relief their ordeal had brought. Since then, with their passion for each other now inflamed, they'd spent a lot more time stealing away than before, often to kiss.

Jean hated to disappoint, but her mind was far afield from kissing now. "I wanted to talk to you," she blurted, before body or hormones could betray her purpose.

"About what?" Warren asked. His expectant smile lessened, but just slightly.

"What we should do about Pietro," Jean replied, feeling guilty, but also foolish for feeling guilty.

Warren's smile faded into a frown. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about why nobody has a plan to go get him back."

He shook his head. "He left us."

"We think."

"I mean, the Professor is pretty sure. He reads minds, remember?"

Jean's eyes flared at Warren's flippancy. "Even so, does that mean we can just abandon one of our own?"

Warren sighed. "He's not one of our own, though, is he? He didn't _just_ wander off, right? He left us to join The Brotherhood."

"They could have kidnapped him!"

She felt stupid the moment it left her lips, but it was too late to take it back now. Warren laughed a little in response, though it was more of a scoff.

"Yeah, well I don't think that's the case."

"Well how would you know?" Jean was exasperated, and again spoke before she'd had a chance to think better of it. Apparently she was going to keep putting her foot in her mouth.

Hands now on hips, Warren shook his head once more. "I kind of have experience with that."

Jean's face was hot with embarrassment, but she was determined to get the conversation back on track. Or at least to finally find the track she'd meant to get them on in the first place.

"That's not what I meant. Besides, I have experience with that, too. Remember I came to rescue you?"

"I remember that you got to play hero while I was tied to a chair."

It was Jean's turn to laugh derisively. "I wasn't _playing hero_. It wasn't a game. I wasn't doing it for the fun of it."

"Sure." He clearly didn't believe her at all.

She couldn't believe he was so easily brushing her off. That his idea of her wanting to be some big heroic figure was more accurate than the reality - that she'd simply been desperate to do _something_. She hadn't enjoyed it at all; she'd been terrified. She still woke up from the nightmares weeks later.

"Look," she said, gritting her teeth to help her stay focused on her goal instead of on the myriad ways she'd like to tear into Warren at the moment. "I'm talking about helping Pietro. He should be here with us, instead of there with them."

"So you're saying we should run off and play hero again?"

Jean sputtered, unable to form words in her outrage.

Warren seemed finally to awaken to Jean's infuriated reaction, and softened his tone. "C'mon, Jean. See it from my perspective. Pietro never acted like he wanted to be here with us, or be our friends, or anything. He was always off by himself. Now he's gone. He had one foot out the door the whole time."

Jean breathed heavily, trying to expel some of her frustration and accept the olive branch of his more compassionate tone. "But he was coming around. He'd promised to come to the dance - he _did_ come to the game!"

"Yeah. And he left us there. For good."

She didn't even have time to notice that it was happening before hot tears had welled up in her eyes, heavy and threatening to fall. "He promised _me!_ "

Warren saw her eyes watering. Instinctively, he stepped forward, offering open arms to embrace her. Despite how his words had hurt her just moments before, she wanted to fall into his arms. She wanted the warmth, the comfort, the familiarity. She wanted the feelings she'd had for him, before he'd hurt her feelings.

She didn't even know that she'd moved, but found herself pressing her face into his chest. The tears made good on their threat, streaking down her face and wetting the front of Warren's shirt.

He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her tight to him and lightly brushing her hair. He was warm. His arms were strong. She felt comfortable and protected.

So she let herself cry there, shocked at herself, at how upset she was over this. And hoping that the tears would wash away the hurtful things that had been said.

* * *

 **neXt:** The New Student!

* * *

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	14. Welcome

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu and InsomniacQueen for taking the time to leave a review! I appreciate you so much!

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Charles Xavier has created the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety, their existence kept secret. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro

On a recent vacation, Xavier and his four remaining students encountered a new mutant, a boy named Calvin. He has accepted a place at the Institute and is on his way to join them. Now, Xavier and his students must learn how his ability to mimic others around him works - and how he will fit in at the Xavier Institute.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **14**

 **Welcome**

All four Xavier Institute students joined the Professor and Marilyn in the foyer of the mansion to greet Calvin as he arrived. They waited in a nervous, excited silence. Marilyn seemed unable to bear the silence, breaking it periodically with sporadic topics. Hank was luckily up to the task of entertaining her enthusiastic outbursts.

That suited Warren just fine. He didn't feel much like talking. And after his roller-coaster of a conversation - argument? - with Jean, he wouldn't have known what to say even if he had.

Things had seemed so great. He and Jean had gotten so much closer since the incident with the Brotherhood. Their relationship had really solidified, they'd started kissing and holding hands, and Warren couldn't have been happier.

Then, out of nowhere, Jean was talking about Pietro, the guy who had abandoned them to join the Brotherhood. He'd joined them the very night they'd attacked Warren and the others. Warren was shocked, to say the least, that Jean felt anything beyond "good riddance" toward Pietro.

Not only that, but she seemed mad at Warren that he didn't feel the same way as her. Which - not that he would actually say this to her face - was totally insane. The Brotherhood had kidnapped him and tied him to a chair. And Pietro had joined up with them.

Plus, Jean had gotten to basically be a superhero, fighting with Toad and saving Warren. Which was another thing he couldn't say to her: How jealous that made him.

Maybe he'd let the cat out of the bag by kind of making his jealousy known in their argument. But he hadn't said it outright.

It wasn't fair. He'd been tied up, and meanwhile they'd gotten to fight with inhuman abilities. That was amazing, the kind of thing only seen in comics and movies. And she'd gotten to live it!

It wasn't only that. She'd gotten stronger. When she arrived at the Institute, she could move things with her mind, sure. But she couldn't move much, or from very far away, nothing too heavy and not for too long. She'd pushed past all her limitations. Sure, she wasn't lifting cars with ease from a mile away, but Warren noticed the difference.

It wasn't just Jean. Hank had always had amazing abilities - a huge muscular form like he'd been bodybuilding for a few decades instead of having only lived through one and a half. He was super strong, with agility beyond the greatest gymnast. He could leap three or more times further than an average human, and his feet were more like hands, allowing him to use them as such.

And there was Scott. They'd tried to egg him on to show off his powers. They'd been eager to see what he could do. But when Warren finally saw Scott unleash the glowing red beams of destructive force from his eyes, he understood why Scott had never used it frivolously.

Even the Professor was supposedly quite powerful in his own right. Though he'd never proven it with a demonstration, there was little doubt that he was lying to them. And none of them were eager to really test the boundaries of a supposedly immensely powerful telepath.

Surrounded by all that, Warren was a nobody. Yeah, a guy with giant, feathery, angelic wings sprouting from his back was cool in a vacuum. He could fly, fulfilling the wistful dreams of many a daydreamer. It was amazing - until you remembered everyone else around him.

Warren had never considered just how limited he was. After the initial shock and terror that accompanied his wings manifesting, he'd grown to love them. They were as much a part of him as his arms and legs, but at the same time oh so much more. They freed him. They allowed him to soar in the skies. They made him special.

He'd come to the Xavier Institute and felt that his uniqueness had been reinforced. There were others with gifts, but none quite like his. He'd felt a new sense of belonging and purpose. He'd felt powerful and important.

And then, suddenly, it had all been ripped away. He'd been made helpless. Weak. Pitiful.

The Brotherhood had effortlessly duped him, knocked him unconscious, and made him a prisoner - a fool. He'd been completely helpless until his friends had shown up to rescue him.

Yeah, he'd been able to assist a little, delivering the blow that finally knocked Toad unconscious. But he had no illusions about his place now: He was the bottom of the totem pole.

Everyone around him was a powerhouse, capable of inflicting massive damage on any foe. And those foes, from what they'd seen up to now, were no slouches either.

Warren was left to just flap his silly wings. He might as well be a parakeet. If the Brotherhood ever came calling again, he'd do just as well to sit on the sidelines while the rest of them handled it. Maybe better, even, because that way he could keep himself from accidentally getting hurt.

He scowled, and his grip on Jean's shoulder unconsciously weakened.

It was ridiculous, but he almost wished he were still arguing with Jean. Of course, he'd prefer that they hadn't argued. But since they had, and since he'd hinted at all these things he was feeling, it felt like he'd missed his opportunity. In the heat of the moment, he'd been taken aback by what she was saying, responding without really thinking about it first.

Since then his thoughts had just swirled around and around, replaying what had been said, what he'd been secretly feeling. If they were still fighting now he'd at least be able to vocalize what he hadn't then.

He had another crazy thought: Maybe he would just bring it up again later. Not to restart the fight, necessarily. Just to return to the thoughts that had been drawn forth by the fight and vocalize them to her.

Crazy. He shook his head, trying to shoo away such a foolish notion. If he did that she'd probably break up with him on the spot and get the Professor to examine his head.

Luckily, he was rescued from his temporary insanity by Professor Xavier's voice.

"He's pulling up now."

A shiver of anticipation ran through them all. They'd been awaiting Calvin's arrival since that fateful encounter at the beach. They were all excited to learn more about his abilities, to greet a new comrade, and to see how he would fit in.

The muffled sound of car doors being opened and closed came through the front door. Warren straightened his back. His grip on Jean's shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. His wings flexed automatically, cutting a wider profile.

It probably took a minute, maybe less, for the front door to open, but those last moments of expectation stretched them interminably. Finally the door opened and they beheld the new student.

Calvin Rankin stood before them, flanked by Xavier's driver holding his luggage. He wouldn't have seemed remarkable in any way - average height, skinny but not scrawny, dirty blonde hair - had it not been for the brilliant white wings sprouting from his back through his shirt, identical to those sprouting from Warren's.

"Welcome, Calvin," Professor Xavier said. He smiled warmly.

That seemed to break the spell that was hanging over them all. At once, the rest of them spoke up, saying hellos and welcoming Calvin to the Institute. Calvin, for his part, seemed to take it all in stride. He had a smile that showed at once sincere appreciation mingled with nervous uncertainty.

Marilyn bustled off while the driver lugged Calvin's luggage up the staircase. "Thanks, everybody," he said when they had stopped all speaking at once.

"We're very glad to have you," said the Professor

"I'm, uh, glad to be here, too." He laughed awkwardly. "I guess I really do need it. I grew wings again coming up the drive."

"You'll be needing new shoes, too, it seems," Marilyn said.

Warren looked at Calvin's feet to see what she was referring to. They were ripped open, just like the back of his shirt, as though his feet had exploded out of them - which, from the looks of it, seemed to be exactly what happened.

"Uh, yeah," he replied. "I guess my feet grew too."

"I suspect that would be my doing, however inadvertent," Hank chimed in. To punctuate his point, he lifted one massive, hand-like foot into the air and wriggled his toes.

"It didn't hurt this time, at least," Calvin said with a shrug, not quite looking at Hank's foot.

"Yes, I made sure that you had an easier time with it this time," Professor Xavier replied.

It took a second for Warren to realize what he was implying. Had the Professor really tapped into Calvin's mind on his trip in and prevented him from being able to feel the pain of growing wings?

Calvin seemed as surprised by this news as the rest of them. It was unnerving. That the Professor could so easily dip into Calvin's mind and shut down his sense of pain was . . . well, it wasn't quite in line with the vision of the Professor that Warren had in his mind.

Professor Xavier seemed to pick up on this unease - or did he read all their minds? No, they'd all shifted or tensed. He didn't have to be a mind reader.

The Professor continued. "I wanted to prevent you from experiencing the same pain or distress as when your mutation initially manifested recently. Unfortunately, we haven't had time to work together on that, so I . . . improvised. I do hope that you will all forgive me."

He addressed this last bit to all of them, not just Calvin. Nobody responded immediately. The Professor asking their forgiveness was almost as surprising as his tapping into Calvin's mind in the first place. He was a conscientious man, to be sure, but had always acted with a self-assuredness that begged no permission or apology. This felt like an inversion of their dynamic.

It was Calvin who broke the brief silence. "Hey, it's no problem. Better than having it hurt like it did the first time. That was definitely not fun."

They laughed nervously, grateful for the relief in the unexpected tension. Warren still felt uncomfortable, though - just for a different reason.

They were all just standing there, having made introductions. But what else was there to say? They were strangers, Calvin an outsider, and it wasn't like they could just stand there for twenty minutes until they were best friends.

Once again, the Professor seemed to pick up on this as soon as it occurred to Warren. "I'm sure you're curious to see your new accommodations?" he said to Calvin.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Hank, why don't you take Calvin up to the boys' dormitories and show him to his room?"

Hank nodded and gestured for Calvin to follow. As they moved to leave, Professor Xavier spoke up once more.

"Feel free to take as much time as you need settling in, Calvin. Make yourself comfortable. Once you're ready, let me know, and we can begin to see just what you can do."

* * *

 **neXt:** Testing the limits

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	15. First Flight

Thank you to Le Faucon Bleu and DragnKitty for taking the time to leave a review! I appreciate you so much!

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Charles Xavier has created the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety, their existence kept secret. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro - but Pietro has left them to join a rival group, called The Brotherhood.

Xavier's students have been tense with anticipation for the arrival of the new student, Calvin. These tensions pushed Warren and Jean to argue prior to his arrival. When he arrived, Professor Xavier sent Calvin off to settle in and prepare to test just what, exactly, he can do.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **15**

 **First Flight**

The five students joined Professor Xavier outside the Danger Room. Calvin was the last to join them, and he appeared wearing one of their black and gold uniforms. Now he looked just as they did when they assembled for their own Danger Room sessions. Scott guessed that the Professor had gotten his measurements as part of preparing to accept him to the Institute.

Of course, this time the rest of them were simply wearing their normal clothes. Today's Danger Room session was for Calvin alone.

The Professor introduced Calvin to the Danger Room. He explained that the room usually served as an obstacle course that they had to overcome as a team, but that today's session would be much simpler.

Calvin pursed his lips. "Don't go easy on me. I can take it."

Professor Xavier smiled knowingly. "I'm sure you will do wonderfully. But as this is the first time you've ever actually tried to use your abilities, I think taking it slow is best."

Calvin looked at the rest of them standing around him. "Did they have to take it slow?"

"They had each manifested their abilities long before arriving here, sometimes years prior." The Professor glanced at Jean as he said this. Not for the first time, Scott wondered at their history together, which predated the creation of the Xavier Institute.

Professor Xavier continued. "What's more, they are able to call on their abilities at any time, and so were familiar with them. Unfortunately, since you must be in proximity to another mutant in order to copy their ability, this is your first opportunity to test your powers at all."

Calvin frowned, clearly unhappy with the Professor's explanation. Professor Xavier could tell. "We must all of us walk before we can run. I am not doing this to single you out or in any way suggest you cannot handle a higher intensity. But we must discover what, exactly, it means for you to use your ability before we can start to test its limits."

Scott thought it was a satisfying answer. He was impressed at the Professor's ability to think quickly, to speak calmly and convincingly. Calvin, too, seemed to accept the Professor's explanation, and offered no further protest.

Nodding slightly, Professor Xavier spoke again, this time to the rest of them. "As it seems that Calvin has a level of access to some or all of your abilities, I propose that you each, in turn, explain what you can do and how he might emulate that."

Scott was somewhat taken aback by this suggestion, a sentiment that seemed to be shared by his fellow students. He'd never considered it before, but something about divulging the exact details of their abilities felt so . . . intimate.

Plus, Scott's abilities, at least, were a curse rather than a blessing. He'd resigned himself to the reality that he may need to know how to use them, but he still didn't like to spend more time than he had to acknowledging that they existed at all.

Hank was the quickest to rebound from the Professor's surprise suggestion. "You've likely noticed that your hands and feet have swollen to a larger size." His voice was jovial, acknowledging the silly absurdity of it all.

Calvin nodded. He was barefoot in his Danger Room uniform, same as when Hank wore his. He wriggled his toes. "My big toe moved, too, from where it was. I think." Scott detected a note of revulsion in his voice. He couldn't blame Calvin; thinking about his own body being altered made Scott shudder and his stomach clench uncomfortably.

"Yes, you can likely use them as an extra set of hands," Hank continued, either oblivious to Calvin's tone or choosing to ignore it. "You also may experience a significant increase in your physical strength."

Calvin nodded, eyeing Hank. "My shoulders got bigger, too. My shirt - I could tell it got tighter. I mean, it ended up ripping, too . . ."

He trailed off, and his wings made a shrugging motion that Scott wasn't sure was conscious. Of course, he may have been distracted from his body changing to match Hank's because it was also sprouting massive feathery wings to match Warren's at the same time. Although Calvin hadn't gotten significantly larger in frame than Scott remembered, so the change didn't perfectly mirror Hank.

Warren chimed in. "On that note, you've, uh, already noticed the wings." He laughed. It sounded forced. "You should be able to fly on them."

"How do I . . . ?" Calvin began, eyeing his own set of wings. But he seemed to answer his own question as his wings then flapped. More of a half-flap, seemingly to test the wings rather than to actually lift off. Calvin must not have been completely aware of what he was doing, because he cried out and stumbled to regain his balance.

Warren laughed again, this time more easily. "You also can probably see quite a bit better than you normally do."

Calvin squinted his eyes, blinked one and then the other.

Jean spoke next. "For me, you might be able to move things with your mind. It's kind of like reaching out to grab something far away, but you have to really focus and you're, you know, not moving your actual arm."

Calvin seemed to think that this, the first major power set that wasn't physical and immediately obvious, was a very intriguing prospect. He cast his glance about the group, scanning for something to test this ability on. Scott realized that he may not have been aware of this ability at all, since it did not accompany a physical manifestation.

"It was hard for me at first," Jean continued. "I couldn't lift much. Definitely nothing too heavy or far away. It was really like just having an extra, invisible arm. But I've gotten stronger over time, and I bet you will too." She smiled, and her green eyes twinkled.

Scott was amazed. She had such a friendly, warm tone. She made the explanation of her abilities so simple and accessible. He was in awe of how easy she made it seem, to say nothing of how effortlessly friendly and welcoming she was.

He realized suddenly that they were now all staring expectantly in his direction. While he was busy staring at Jean.

Oh, God, it was his turn. How could he follow Jean? What was he going to say?

"I, uh, shoot energy beams out of my eyes." He'd not even finished speaking before his face started to burn. He scratched the back of his head even though it didn't itch. It sounded so stupid when he just said it out loud.

"Now _that_ sounds cool!" Calvin said. "You shoot _lasers_ out of your eyes?"

"Um. Uh." Scott was so surprised that Calvin was actually excited instead of horrified or derisive that his brain stalled. "Not - not exactly."

"It's a concussive force," Professor Xavier said, rescuing Scott, who flooded with gratitude. "It doesn't seem to emit any heat, but rather a crushing, almost physical force."

Scott's relief was mitigated by the Professor's description. Not that it was inaccurate. It was just not something Scott really wanted to have shared about himself. Or to be reminded of.

"Still cool," Calvin replied. Scott was glad that Calvin seemed oblivious to his embarrassment. For his part, Scott felt like he might as well be dressed like a cheap birthday clown. It would perfectly represent how stupid he felt like he looked and sounded then.

Calvin pressed forward. "How do I turn it on?"

"Huh?"

"How do I do it?" Calvin asked. "How do I turn it on?"

Scott just stared at him. He had no idea what to say. He felt totally blindsided by the question, even though it was so obvious in hindsight.

Plus, he literally didn't know the answer.

He opened his mouth to respond, wishing that the words would just come to him. They didn't, and he snapped his mouth shut, hoping that he hadn't gaped like a big, dumb fish for more than a second.

The problem was: He _didn't_ turn it on. Actually, the problem was that he couldn't turn it _off_.

Which raised the question of why concussive energy beams weren't blasting out of Calvin's eyes from the moment he'd arrived.

They weren't completely certain that Calvin had absorbed all of their powers, or had a perfect copy of them. They could see the physical changes brought on by proximity to Warren and Hank, but Jean's and Scott's abilities had yet to appear.

So maybe Calvin wasn't firing off eye beams because he couldn't. But what if he did have Scott's power, and there was some other reason?

Professor Xavier had shut down Calvin's ability to feel pain earlier. Maybe he was suppressing Calvin's access to Scott's mutation?

But if that were the case, why hadn't he ever done that for Scott? He'd gone through the trouble of discovering the special ruby-quartz lenses Scott had to wear, and having them manufactured. He knew how much of a burden - a curse - this was. Could he really shut it down, but had simply chosen not to?

That idea didn't really square with the kind of man that Scott saw Professor Xavier as. Then again, the Professor interfering with Calvin's mind, and so effortlessly, also didn't connect with the man Scott perceived.

"Are you okay?" Calvin said. Scott nearly jumped at the sound. He'd been so absorbed in his own spiraling ruminations that he'd nearly forgotten he was surrounded by people, or that he'd been asked a question to which he'd not provided an answer.

"I, uh - sorry," he sputtered.

His face got hot again. God, he felt so stupid. He noticed Jean looking at him intensely, her brow furrowed. She was probably thinking that she'd never seen such a freak in her life. He looked away from her quickly.

"I don't know how to control it," he spat out at last. "It's . . . it just . . . happens." He fell silent, fully aware of how lame that last bit had been.

He was keenly aware of all their eyes on him, and just as aware that he was turning approximately the color of a fire truck. He prayed that the lighting was dim enough that they wouldn't notice his entire body blushing. Regardless, everyone but Calvin knew that he'd lied just then.

"It is no rare thing," said the Professor, "for an ability to manifest and be beyond the control of the person with that ability. You, yourself, have absorbed the abilities of my other students completely unconsciously. The same thing happened to me when my abilities first appeared. It took me quite some time before I was able to control it, and quite a bit longer than that for me to learn to use and direct it. Which, of course, is our purpose today - and perhaps we'd best set ourselves to that task."

Scott couldn't believe it. The Professor had backed him up. Knowing full well that Scott's powers were uncontrollable, rather than simply untamed. And, miraculously, Scott hadn't even detected a hint of surprise or derision in the Professor's voice, despite what he was certain they'd all been feeling.

Regardless, he was grateful that he was no longer being grilled about the thing he hated most. He was more than content to slip quietly to the back of the group as they all filed into the Danger Room control booth to watch as Calvin tested his abilities.

* * *

The Danger Room test went very smoothly. Unlike the rest of them, Professor Xavier didn't have Calvin attempt the cross the room challenge they'd all faced. Since his powers were brand new and wholly untested, Calvin was simply presented with a series of simple obstacles. It was more of a giant jungle gym area for him to test his abilities than a gauntlet intended to push his limits.

Calvin seemed to make good headway on understanding and utilizing his newfound powers. He certainly wasn't a sure flyer like Warren or an inhumanly gifted acrobat like Hank, but, of course, he had the seeds of both. And he visibly improved during the course of the trial, even managing to use Hank's increased strength and agility to stabilize his flight, and Warren's wings to turn an acrobatic catapult into a swift glide.

Jean's abilities were a bit harder to come by. As hers and Scott's abilities were not physical manifestations, it took Calvin several tries before he was able to move anything telekinetically. When he did, it was clearly very straining, and he wasn't able to move much. He'd copied Jean's powers, but not the progress she'd made with them in recent months.

Scott had watched Calvin hopefully. Of course, he wanted Calvin to succeed. He wanted him to start off on the right foot of becoming accustomed to his powers. He wanted them all to have a clearer understanding of exactly how Calvin's abilities worked.

But at the same time, he hoped that Calvin would fail to copy Scott's own abilities. They were simply too dangerous. Scott had spent time with them, learning how to shield himself and others from their devastating power. If Calvin accessed them, it could be deadly.

Then, to his dismay, Calvin fired an optic blast. It did seem quite a bit weaker than Scott's. Calvin had also not replicated it after the initial blast.

Unfortunately, the fact that he was able to use it at all had set Scott against the proverbial wall. What did this mean for everyone's safety? How long was it before Calvin started shooting energy from his eyes with enough power to demolish the house? How long before the beams became uncontrollable, like Scott's?

And, even more horrifying: What if they never did? What if Calvin was able to control them, but Scott wasn't? What would it mean if Calvin were better at Scott's abilities than Scott himself?

Scott wandered the mansion aimlessly after the demonstration. These thoughts swirled in his head, propelling him thoughtlessly forward.

He wanted to talk to the Professor. If anyone would know why his abilities seemed to work differently than Calvin's version, it would be Professor Xavier.

Maybe Calvin having so many abilities made each of them weaker? Maybe his optic blasts weren't as strong because the other abilities were taking up too much energy? Maybe they didn't shoot out wildly because of the lower power level?

This was the kind of thing the Professor could help him sort out.

Except that another thought then occurred to Scott. What if the Professor hadn't thought of any of this? What if he'd been blissfully oblivious to the power difference between Scott and Calvin? What if he'd overlooked Scott's dependence on the ruby-quartz lenses, and Calvin's lack thereof?

Scott would be highlighting their differences. Drawing attention to the fact that Calvin was a safer, more in control version of Scott.

That Scott was too destructive.

Too dangerous.

The Professor would realize all of this. Would he really feel comfortable keeping Scott around? Could he truly justify having an out of control destructive force in the same building with his other students, especially when a safer alternative had presented itself.

Scott stopped walking. He couldn't bring this up with the Professor. Doing so could cause his own expulsion from the only place he'd ever felt at home.

He couldn't risk it.

 _The Professor will realize it sooner or later_ , he thought suddenly.

Calvin! He was the answer! He'd been able to use Scott's ability in the Danger Room. Maybe he could explain how. Why he was able to control it.

How Scott could control it.

He spun on his heel. He wasn't sure where Calvin was at the moment, so he decided to start by knocking on his bedroom door.

That proved fruitless, so Scott made his way downstairs where he heard the others. He found Warren, Jean, and Hank all sitting around and chatting, but no sign of Calvin. They waved at him and invited him to join them, and Scott croaked through his dry mouth that he was busy at the moment.

He made his way to the kitchen, where Marilyn was cheerily working. No Calvin.

He crept past Professor Xavier's closed office door in the main foyer, fearful that the Professor would hear him. Scott shuddered to think that it was entirely possible that the Professor might _sense_ him, and hurried on.

Once he'd moved a safe distance away, Scott paused to think. If Calvin wasn't in his room, wasn't hanging out with the others, and wasn't around the kitchen, where could he be? He was unlikely to be on the upper floor; it was only bedrooms, and Scott had checked there already. He could be lurking round somewhere on the first floor - it was a mansion, after all. But there was also the outside yard, the pool, the surrounding grounds. And there was the workout area downstairs near the locker rooms and Danger Room.

Scott thought Calvin might be working out, but . . . that didn't feel right. Calvin was young, just like the rest of them, but even so he seemed like the kind of skinny kid who'd never actually set foot in a gym.

It was a big day of major changes, so maybe he was outside, getting some fresh air. That would be what Scott would do in the same situation.

He paused again, worried about interrupting Calvin. Scott would want to be left alone, so Calvin probably would, too.

But if he waited too long, the Professor might realize that Scott was too dangerous to keep around all on his own. If Scott didn't talk to Calvin right now and learn exactly how to keep his power under control, it might be too late.

Steeling himself for a possible confrontation, Scott pushed the butterflies in his stomach to the side and strode to the back yard.

It was a bright and sunny day, though there was a chill in the air. Despite his ruby-quartz glasses, Scott squinted in the sudden light, reflexively shielding his eyes against the sun.

He scanned the yard. No Calvin in the garden. No Calvin by the pool.

No Calvin to be seen.

He kept scanning. He didn't know what else to do. What _could_ he do? His life was at stake! If he wasn't ready to answer whenever Professor Xavier inevitably questioned him about how out of control and dangerous he was, he would probably be expelled!

He'd already blasted a hole in the wall of their high school! It was a miracle he hadn't been expelled then. Surely the Professor's patience with Scott's destructive mutation was already at its end, just waiting for an excuse to cut him loose.

Where would he go? He was fourteen. He couldn't exactly get a job and an apartment. He'd never had a home before the Institute. Not a real one, anyway.

Oh, God, would he have to go back to the orphanage? The thought was unbearable. Returning there was about the worst thing Scott could think of. And everyone would know that he was returning after having left to go live somewhere else.

They would know that he'd failed out and been sent back. He could never face them.

He was sweating now, a cold sweat born from panic. If he couldn't find Calvin and learn what he needed to, his life was as good as over.

If it hadn't been for him freezing in panic, he probably wouldn't have been outside long enough to see it.

A shadow, human but with large wings. A sight that Scott had seen several times now since living with Warren.

But Warren was inside. Which could only mean . . .

He looked up, squinting against the sun to find the shadow's owner.

There he was. Calvin flew through the air high above the Institute on the wings he'd copied from Warren.

Scott's first reaction was relief. He still had to actually speak to Calvin, but now that he'd found him, the panic subsided somewhat.

His next reaction was frustration mixed with anger. Calvin was flying high - too high - and was swooping in ever-widening circles round the mansion. The way he was flying, he could potentially be spotted by people outside the Institute.

Both of those reactions faded, however, in light of the next moment.

Scott watched Calvin swooping around and around, wondering how he would get his attention. Calvin, already high and circling wide, seemed intent to push ever farther. He caught some wind that pushed him at once up and forward, faster and higher than before.

And then he faltered.

As Scott watched on from the ground, so far below, so helpless to do anything, Calvin rocked suddenly back and forth. Smooth, swift flight turned instantly into a flailing, out of control motion.

Calvin was high enough that it was hard to make out features or details more than an outline, but Scott, squinting at him, was able to piece together what was happening. The realization caused a new panic to rise in him.

Thrashing about, Calvin's trajectory slowed to a near stop. His wings flapped feverishly, but Scott could still see the changes taking place.

Calvin's wings were disappearing.

And then Scott's panic seized. His blood froze. His heart stopped. His breath caught.

Calvin began to fall.

* * *

 **neXt:** Earning Wings


	16. Falling

Thank you to CRUDEN, Le Faucon Bleu, Stars2346, and TheValdezTARDIS for taking the time to leave a review or comment!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Charles Xavier has created the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety, their existence kept secret. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro. Pietro has since defected to a rival group called The Brotherhood.

A recently discovered new mutant, Calvin, has just joined the Xavier Institute. His ability to copy mutant powers sends Scott into a spiral of worry that he will be replaced. Scott goes to find and ask Calvin how he's able to hold his copy of Scott's optic blasts in check, only to discover that Calvin has flown too high on wings borrowed from Warren. Scott can only watch helplessly as Calvin begins to plummet to the earth.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **16**

 **Falling**

To be honest, Jean wasn't sure she was quite past the argument she'd had with Warren.

It felt, almost, to have happened several days ago. Since it had come to an abrupt stop, Calvin had arrived at the Institute and had his first run through the Danger Room. It was exciting and diverting, yet the words Jean and Warren had exchanged seemed to sit at the back of her mind, quietly waiting their turn to speak up once more.

Worse, they'd both said some hurtful things to each other, and then there'd been no conclusion or closure or reconciliation. She'd simply burst into tears - which made her feel completely foolish, in hindsight. She felt like such a teenage girl (never mind that both words accurately described her).

Now, hours later, she sat in the entertainment room with Warren and Hank. Warren sat with his arm around her shoulders. Like he'd done when they'd greeted Calvin. And, just as then, it felt rigid, held taught by the tension of things unresolved. The television was on, presumably to something funny since Hank kept chuckling, but Jean was only pretending to watch it.

Was she just being a total idiot? Sure, Warren had said some stuff he shouldn't have. But so had she, right? And their argument ended with her breaking down into tears; did that mean that the whole thing had been tainted? Had there been an unseen dam of emotion about to burst the whole time? Were the things she and Warren had fought about real feelings, or were they just symptoms of an emotion she'd been feeling already, independent of him and the things he'd said?

She wished Hank weren't there so that she could talk to Warren. She wished she knew what she'd say to him if they were talking. She wished she knew how she felt or what she wanted to say. She wished that the whole thing would blow over without them having to say anything about it at all.

She wished she knew what she wanted.

Suddenly, her tumultuous thoughts were forgotten. A chill went through her, and she shivered involuntarily.

Warren tightened his grip around her shoulders, pulling her into him and looking at her quizzically. The room was perfectly warm, as was Warren beside her.

But she hadn't shivered out of cold. She'd shivered because of a feeling. An ominous feeling. It was -

Scott burst into the room, breathless, through the door to the backyard. He didn't stop even to catch his breath before gasping out, "Calvin! Falling! Help!"

Jean didn't have a moment to wonder at this seeming confirmation of her sense of foreboding. At once, she, Warren, and Hank had leapt to their feet and running outside, following Scott.

They didn't have far to go before Scott stopped. Jean caught no sight of Calvin anywhere nearby until Scott pointed up to the sky.

A figure, plummeting from high above, falling quickly to the earth. A boy with wings, but wings that looked too small. Wings that struggled to keep him aloft, succeeding only in barely slowing him.

Calvin was falling to his death.

How had this happened? Why was he up there? How could he have been able to fly so high and then lost the ability of flight? Why did he still have wings, and why had they become small and useless?

All of this flashed in her mind for only the briefest split-second, and she pushed each away as it appeared. She lent none of her attention to any of it; all her focus was on Calvin's swiftly-nearing form, and on what she was going to do about it.

She didn't think. She simply brought her hands forward in front of her, holding the image of Calvin's growing form between her outstretched hands.

It was not strictly necessary that she involve her hands while using her telekinesis. She moved things with her mind alone, and yet she always unconsciously used her hands. Even if it was just a trick of her own mind, it seemed to help. And this situation called for every ounce of help she could muster.

She reached out. Her mind grasped like a giant, unseen hand, grabbing for Calvin's form.

But she couldn't reach.

He was too far.

At the speed he was falling, it was possible she might grab for him and miss when he got nearer, sealing his fate. She could put up a psychic wall to stop him - but that might be just as bad as hitting the ground. Indeed, Calvin almost certainly weighed quite a bit more than the maximum weight she'd ever lifted before, and that was before considering the momentum he had from his freefall. She may not be able to stop him at all.

 _I can't save him,_ she realized, a sudden, icy chill spreading through her. _Even if I can catch him, I won't be strong enough to save him._

She whipped her head around. There were Scott and Hank, flanking her, looking on just as helpless as she'd now realized she was. Warren was the only hope.

But where was he? She didn't see him with the other guys.

She snapped her attention back to Calvin, and there was Warren. In the mere moment that Jean had tried and failed to catch Calvin, Warren had already taken off toward him.

Jean couldn't save Calvin's life, but maybe - just maybe - Warren would be fast enough.

* * *

Chill wind whipped past Warren's ears. He was flying before he realized he'd left the ground.

There had been a moment, the first moment that he saw Calvin's spinning, helpless form, in which he'd hesitated. Fear and disbelief had stayed him, glued him to the earth.

But Warren Worthington was never truly glued to the earth. Not since his mutation blessed him with wings. And though Calvin's wings, presumably a perfect copy of Warren's, had for some reason failed him, Warren's own pair beat strong and true, lifting him faithfully into the air.

His takeoff had been instinctual, but realizing what he'd done, he resolved to fly with speed and purpose. Calvin was nearing the ground; Warren would have to push himself to catch him.

 _Then what?_ flashed an unwelcome thought. Was Warren strong enough to lift the weight of another boy? He'd done so with Scott recently, but Scott hadn't been falling from a great height at the time. Could Warren's wings sustain the weight of two adolescent boys and halt a terminal falling velocity without resulting in their injury - or death?

No time to worry about that now. He pushed back his doubts. He was already flying. There was no choice but to try, as best he could.

The wind ripped all sound away from Warren's ears. His eyes watered slightly. Thankfully, his mutation made them sharper and more resilient than average human eyes. Without that, he might not be able to see at all while flying at this speed.

As it was, he had to blink away tears to clear his vision. His gaze was locked, laser-focused, on Calvin. He was falling so fast, getting so close to the ground.

But Warren was sure now. He was going to make it!

Straining at his limits, he beat his wings and cut as sleek a profile as he could manage. He had to push up to his top speed, push past it if possible. If Warren couldn't stop Calvin's fall, he would need every extra second to try and protect himself and Calvin from sustaining serious, possibly life-threatening injuries.

A cry ripped involuntarily from his throat, painful and grating as it pushed against the overwhelming, cold wind pressing against him. With a last burst of strength, he reached out.

He was on target! His arms scooped beneath Calvin's body moments before his own chest collided with Calvin.

Warren's breath was knocked from him by the high-speed collision. His vision blurred again, and this time maybe more from the air being punched from his chest than from watering eyes.

Luckily, Warren's speed and trajectory, running perpendicular to Calvin's own, and parallel to the ground, pushed them out of Calvin's straight-down freefall.

Unluckily, the collision left Warren's head swimming. They were falling at an angle now, but still falling, and falling fast. He flapped his wings, trying to stabilize them and slow their descent. HIs wings beat feebly. His thoughts were so unfocused.

The ground rushed up at them. Too fast! He'd managed to catch Calvin, but in doing so, he may have doomed himself as well.

Warren squeezed his eyes shut, unable to watch as death rushed toward him. And yet, a moment later, unable to help himself, he edged an eye open again.

A blur!

Some large shape, hurtling at them from the edge of Warren's sight. He didn't even have time to turn and look before the figure leapt and crashed into them.

Large, strong arms gripped Warren and Calvin both, squeezing them tight to the chest.

Hank!

His leap had at once caught them, slowed them, and changed their trajectory.

Changed their destiny.

They arced through the air before slamming into the ground. Hank's overlarge feet took the blow, absorbing the shock. He rolled onto the ground and released the other two boys.

Warren lay there, panting, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He'd been ripped from the jaws of certain death. It had happened so suddenly, so inevitably, that to now find himself once more certain of life seemed an unbelievable miracle.

He barely registered Scott and Jean crying out to them, running to check on them. Jean threw herself down alongside Warren, encircling him in her arms. She pressed her face into his neck, and he felt moisture there. She said something to him about how happy she was that he was okay, and how scared she'd been. He barely heard her, because happiness and fear both screamed loudly inside his own mind.

They'd made it. Somehow, impossibly, they had survived. Some freak accident with Calvin had tried to claim their lives and they had managed to overcome it.

Soon, they pulled themselves onto shaky feet to make their way back to the mansion. Warren put his arm around Jean's shoulders again, and this time there was no tension, no worry about unresolved arguments. His arm draped easily on her shoulders. It belonged there.

He squeezed, pulling her tighter to him. He was alive. They were together. Everything was going to be okay.

* * *

 **neXt:** Family Ties

* * *

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


	17. Family First

Thank you to CRUDEN, Captain Photon, Jj, and Le Faucon Bleu for your reviews and comments! It means so very much to me!

* * *

 _ **Previously, in X-Ceptional X-Men**_

Professor Charles Xavier has created the Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters - a place where young mutants can learn to control their special abilities in safety, their existence kept secret. His first class of students consists of five kids - Scott, Jean, Warren, Hank, and Pietro - but Pietro has left them to join a rival group, called The Brotherhood.

Xavier found a new mutant, Calvin, with the ability to copy the powers of other mutants around him. He joined the Institute but then flew too high in the sky and began to fall to his death. Thanks to some quick thinking, Warren and Hank were able to save his life. Meanwhile, Pietro has been with The Brotherhood for some time. He is there with his sister, Wanda, who introduced him to the leader of the group: A mysterious man named Magneto.

 **FIRST CLASS**

 **17**

 **Family First**

"How long must we wait?"

Wanda sighed. "How often must we have this conversation?"

"I'm serious."

Pietro stared at his sister. His ice-blue eyes were filled with sincerity.

"You know the answer, brother. Magneto saved my life. I am in debt to him."

"Yes, I know. But he asks nothing of you, or me."

Wanda rolled her eyes, facing away from him.

Pietro pressed on. "We sit here in this house and we wait for an order that I begin to think will never come. How long must we go with him asking nothing of us before we conclude that he _wants_ nothing of us?"

She shook her head, still facing away. "I have a debt to him. A life-debt. It must be paid."

Pietro approached her, gently placing his hands on her crossed arms. "Is not the fact that you live payment enough?"

Finally, she turned back to him. "Perhaps. But that is not mine to decide."

"Then let us do something. Anything. We have spent - I don't know how long - here, doing nothing." He gestured round them, at the shabby house around them. " If we are to pay him, let us pay him and have done with it."

"And what would you have me pay him, brother?" Wanda snapped. "What price do you put on my life?"

Pietro had no idea what to say. He gaped at her, running his hands through his shock-white hair, stunned at her sudden outburst, her accusatory tone.

She saw his face, and her own softened. "I know it is hard for you, Pietro. But you must wait." She laughed a little, cautiously. "Truly, it has not even been so long since you came." She paused, softening her voice. "Forgive me, but that is, I think, your gift."

Pietro's face hardened. "No. It may stretch the minutes into hours, but it is not the cause of my concern."

"What, then?" She tried to be casual when she asked it, but Pietro could still hear wariness in her tone. She knew what he was going to say.

And yet . . .

"This group, Wanda. These people . . . I do not trust them." He locked eyes with her, firm yet pleading. "They have done things I do not agree with. To see my sister aligned with this-"

"I am not here for them."

"I know," he said. "But. That man-"

"I remind you again, brother, that Magneto saved my life." She stared sternly at him.

"I know."

"Saved the life of your sister," she added, her voice quiet - and final.

He remembered then, the same memory he'd had every day since he'd lost her. The crowd, angry, murderous, brandishing tools as weapons and chanting about a witch.

He remembered his helplessness. Her frightened face. He knew that she had no control over it. That whatever she was doing, whatever was happening to her, was beyond her control. It wasn't her fault.

And he knew they wouldn't care.

He remembered her urging him to leave. To run for help.

He refused. He would not abandon her. He could not. He would protect her.

But she refuted him. She said that he would be killed, too. He knew this well. But he would rather die with her than live without her.

And then came her most clever reply. Reminding him of the man who had given them shelter the night before. Reminding him that he had sway in this community. That he'd seemed to know what she could do, and had helped them anyway.

Go and get him, she'd said. He can stop them. He can help us. He can save our lives.

Run!

And he was off. He would need to be fast. He would have to run faster than he ever had if he was to have any hope of finding that man and returning in time.

He took a few running steps - and stopped.

In seconds, the world around him had changed entirely. The village he'd been in was gone, dissolved into a field. It was as though he'd lost consciousness and come to some time later, having been moved to an unfamiliar place. He looked back the way he'd come and saw nothing but more fields and rolling hills.

Where was he?

How had he gotten here? Where had the village gone?

What had happened to Wanda?

He turned around and began running. Each step felt heavy, as though in a dream. He was painfully aware of how slow he was. Of how the distance was nearly unchanging as he pressed on.

He ran until he couldn't. He didn't stop when he was gasping for breath and clutching the knife that felt like it was stuck in his side. He didn't stop even when he collapsed, pushing himself to his feet again over his body's protests. Limping, no longer able to push himself to run, but still moving forward.

One thing he didn't remember was how long it had taken him to return. Time seemed to slip away from him. The only thing he could think of was his sister, and of how unbelievable and senseless this was, whatever had happened to him.

Some unknown time later, he finally spotted the little village again. He broke into an uneven run, not stopping until he was back at the exact spot where he'd left his sister's side.

She was gone.

Dead.

He knew that she'd been killed. The quiet, deserted streets around him seemed to silently echo the truth of this supposition.

But she had, in fact, not been killed. She'd been rescued by Magneto, and had gone away with him. She had probably thought that Pietro had abandoned her, deciding to save himself after all.

And now, here she was reminding him of this again. Reminding him of the debt she had toward this man.

"I am grateful for it," he said at last. "You are more important to me than anything." He paused, choosing carefully his words. "But I do not want to be part of The Brotherhood."

"You mustn't speak like this!" she hissed. "If Fred or Mortimer were to hear you . . ."

"They cannot trust or like me any less than they do now, I think."

Wanda scoffed. "I don't think that's fair. You haven't given them a chance."

"I have not stopped them," he retorted. She made to contradict him, and he continued before she had the chance. "I was one of Xavier's pupils. That is enough for them. It seems that this is some unforgivable sin."

She pursed her lips. "You speak as if you wish to go back there."

"Is that so wrong?"

"Hush!" she snapped again, casting a quick glance over her shoulder. Content that they were still alone, she turned back to him. "You would rather return to Xavier than stay here with me?"

Pietro chuckled in disbelief. "I would rather return to Xavier _with_ you."

"Why there and not here? Is it not all the same?"

It certainly wasn't. A massive mansion estate was a far cry from the dingy house they were in now. And he'd already said how uncomfortable and unhappy he was to be cooped up here with people he did not like or trust. But that wasn't getting him anywhere, and there was no use in repeating himself.

"When I was there, I - I was making friends," he said at last.

"Are friends enough to blind you to Xavier's message?"

She was so emphatic, and the question so unexpected, that Pietro balked before composing himself to reply. "Xavier's message is about learning to control our abilities. To protect us until we are ready to live among the humans."

"Xavier's message is about hiding," she replied, shaking her head. "It is about fear. Cowardice."

"The humans are the ones who are afraid!" Pietro said, surprised at his own conviction. "Xavier is teaching us how to show them that mutants are safe. We can show them another way."

"You think hiding in a mansion and pretending to be human makes us safe?"

Pietro resented her assertion, but something about her words made him uncomfortable. "He is protecting us."

"Where was his protection when I was attacked?" Her green eyes glistened with moisture. "When they came for me! When they formed a mob. Where, then, was this 'other way?' Nowhere. But Magneto - _he_ was there. He saved me. He wants to save us all. He wants to protect mutants from the humans who would hurt us."

"Can it not just be us, then?" Pietro asked, feeling desperation rise in him. "Let's leave it all behind. Magneto. Professor Xavier." He waved his hand to dismiss both. "Let it just be the two of us. Let me protect you. Let you protect me. We will have each other. Let that be enough."

She blinked away her the tears that had been building, straightening up and composing herself. "I owe it to The Brotherhood to stay."

"The Brotherhood is a pair of thugs and an illusionist who even you do not like or trust and who is not even here half the time. All led by a man you do not know!"

Wanda's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly. "I know him. You don't understand."

"I don't understand?" Pietro scoffed, now feeling well and truly annoyed by this line of thinking. "He saved your life, but still he leads this band of miscreants. He wants to protect mutants, but he does not say how. You rail against Xavier hiding in his mansion, but are we not hiding here, holed up in this house?"

He paused, lest his emotions run rampant and get away from him. "You feel that you owe him for your life, and I understand this, I really do. I feel grateful to him, as well. But he asks nothing of us. He _wants_ nothing of us. He doesn't know us - and we don't know him. He is a stranger!"

"He is not!"

Pietro shook his head, baffled at Wanda's passion for this. "What are you saying, sister?"

Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It is not my place to tell." She met his gaze, pleading.

He furrowed his brow. This was something new. Some secret that she'd been hiding, and him completely unaware. "Tell . . . tell what?"

"My brother. You must be patient."

He smiled, slight and sad. "Patience, sister, it has never been one of my strengths."

She sighed, sadness audible there, too. Despite having a similar conversation before, they'd never been this heated, said so much. Cut so deep.

Wanda tentatively suggested that perhaps it was time for them to visit Magneto again. Pietro was surprised at the suggestion, but acquiesced.

He was skeptical that this would work; Magneto was often away, and when he was there he famously kept himself secluded, locked in his room.

Pietro had only been inside once, when Magneto had initially introduced himself. He hadn't had any particular desire to go back, either. His distaste for The Brotherhood extended to its nominal leader. Even if said leader had, to Pietro's knowledge, not yet actually lead them to do anything.

Wanda walked before him to Magneto's room. She stared ahead of her the whole way, never looking at him. He would expect her to be apprehensive, or maybe comforting to him, or even annoyed. But her shoulders were as set as her gaze, and she gave him nothing.

When they got upstairs, she softly knocked on Magneto's door. Pietro half-expected nothing to happen - after all, Magneto was away as often as not, maybe more. However, only a moment passed before the door opened of its own accord, and Magneto's soft voice welcomed her. She raised a hand to Pietro to wait where he was and closed the door behind her.

Pietro was left alone in the shadowed, silent corridor. He was naturally impatient - whether from his own nature, his mutation, or some combination thereof - and this moment was nearly interminable.

Another side-effect of his mutation was that the passage of time felt unnaturally slow, so his ability to track time was nonexistent. Even short minutes felt like hours. And when he felt impatient, he couldn't stop his head from racing, which made it that much harder to calm down and count seconds.

All of this was compounded by the fact that his stomach was roiling. Something in Wanda's words and demeanor had left him feeling nervous.

It wasn't that he expected to be ousted and punished for his desire to return to Xavier's; he trusted Wanda to be discreet regarding that.

What was bothering him was Wanda. He'd never known her to be so secretive, and the passion she showed in guarding the secret made him feel that much more in uncharted territory.

Finally, the door opened to admit him. He walked into the room with the feeling of being swept along in a current.

At the end of the room across from the desk, as though he hadn't moved since their first meeting, sat Magneto. As before, he was seated largely in shadow, and seemed to be wearing the same outfit which dully reflected light and made a soft sound like metal scraping against metal.

"Pietro. Welcome." Magneto motioned for him to sit as he spoke, and a chair hovered from the edge of the room to land across his desk.

Pietro didn't move. Now that he was in the room, he suddenly felt tense. The lack of light in here had Pietro's imagination bringing the shadows to life, gripping him in an illogical but nonetheless inescapable feeling of dread.

What if Wanda had told Magneto about his desire to leave and rejoin Xavier, after all? What if Magneto's calm demeanor was just to get Pietro's guard down for the last few seconds he needed before it was too late?

Magneto's power offered him some sort of control over metal. If Pietro sat down on that chair Magneto was offering him, it would be little effort for Magneto to twist those metal legs round to secure him in place. Even now, he wasn't sure how swiftly Magneto might be able to close the door or throw the chair at him if he tried to leave.

Leaving might be the right move. It was what Pietro wanted, after all. He was incredibly fast. There was a good chance that his speed would outpace Magneto's reaction time. Short of anticipating him, Pietro could be gone before Magneto knew he'd moved.

But what of Wanda?

That was the reason he hadn't left already. The reason for their heated conversation just minutes ago, and the nearly identical ones they'd had several times preceding that. She was the reason he was here. He couldn't just run off and leave her.

Wanda . . .

He looked to her, feeling his moment of escape slipping away. She met his eyes but averted her gaze almost instantly.

She stepped forward and moved to sit in the chair Magneto was offering Pietro. "Well, if you're not going to take it . . ."

Pietro was struck with her tone - aloof, even cold. Different than before. Even when they'd argued, and even when that drove them to anger, it was always tinged with love. They were mad because they wanted the other to see things the way they did. At the core of everything was their connection as siblings, their need for one another.

So how, now, could she shut that off? Could Magneto have turned her thoughts from him, her only family?

Could he have turned her against him?

"Your sister told me that you are unhappy here," Magneto said, cutting through Pietro's mounting panic. Unfortunately, his words only added to it.

Oh, God, she _had_ told. This was a moment of discipline. Retribution.

Death?

He swallowed, trying and failing to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "I . . ."

"It's alright, Pietro," Magneto said. Pietro's panic stopped growing, but he wasn't foolish enough to relax just yet. Kind words often masked evil deeds.

Magneto continued. "I understand this has all been quite a change. A big change on top of a series of other big changes in your recent life. Your mutation manifests. You are separated from your sister. You believe her to be dead. Xavier finds you and brings you to his Institute."

Pietro flinched at this, but Magneto seemed not to notice. "You find that your sister is alive and rejoin her, bringing you here. To The Brotherhood. To me."

Still tense, Pietro let just a bit of his held breath out. Magneto hadn't worked up to a case of treason against him. He didn't seem to be mad. But still, Pietro's guard was up. There was something more to this. He wasn't out of the woods yet.

"You saved my sister. For this I am grateful. And . . . I am forever in your debt."

 _Which doesn't stop me from wanting to take her out of here and get as far away from you as quickly as possible._ Of course, he kept that last bit to himself.

Magneto nodded at his words. He must have shifted slightly in his seat, because light fell on his face enough that Pietro could see him twist his mouth up into a slight smile.

"But."

Pietro managed to swallow. This was it. This was the moment of Magneto's challenge. He was being called out. Magneto clearly already knew. No use pretending otherwise.

"But I would still like to leave." Pietro's voice croaked as he said it, struggling with a lack of moisture.

"I understand."

Pietro stood there, dumbfounded. Of all the responses he'd expected . . .

"And you . . . object?"

The smile faded. "No. No, not quite. But I would like you to stay." He was frowning. But it seemed less out of anger than . . . something else.

Pietro knew that the gauntlet had been thrown, as it were. Magneto had played his hand - that he knew of Pietro's disloyalty - and Pietro had confirmed it. Now it was his chance for something of a moment of truth.

"You'd like me to stay - or you will make me stay?"

Magneto's smile returned as he seemed almost to stifle a laugh. "I'd like you to stay." He breathed. "Of your own volition."

This was certainly not what Pietro had been expecting. But he'd gone this far . . . "I - I'm sorry. I do not know if I can do that."

Surprising Pietro even further, rather than an angry outburst, Magneto let out a heavy sigh. "I had hoped that you would feel more at home with us. I hoped you would feel a part of The Brotherhood. And that you would see that we are planning to make a better world for mutants, and choose to side with us."

Pietro was starting to recover from the shock of this not being a disciplinary meeting. His confusion now was more over Magneto pushing the discussion toward a philosophical topic. Pietro felt emboldened to push back on Magneto's assertion.

"I understand what Wanda has told me. But I heard it from her, not from you, nor any of the other members of The Brotherhood. I know what you want only because of what she has told me. And I think that even she does not know what you are actually planning to do."

Magneto rested his arms on the desk with the soft sound of sliding metal, like a sword being removed from a sheath. His fingertips came together in a thoughtful, almost prayerful pose. "I'm planning to make a future that is safe for mutants."

"As is Xavier," Pietro replied, cringing inside that this might be a bridge too far. "Yet you fight him. You send The Brotherhood against his students, who are mutants also, and only children, like Wanda and I. Why do you oppose him if you share the same goal?"

Magneto sighed again, softer and sadder than before. "Xavier and I have a long history. We may agree on the ends, but I realized long ago that we rarely agree on the means."

A long history? This information was the most shocking of the night and sent Pietro's mind reeling. He struggled to stay focused on the here and now, and on his attack. "You hide the means from us."

"But not the dream. I want you to trust in that. And trust in me."

"I don't know you!" Pietro snapped. A familiar anger rose in him again, lying dormant from his earlier argument with Wanda.

Now Magneto's mouth turned down once more into a frown. The light reflecting from eyes set within the confines of his helmet seemed to Pietro to tell a story of some deep sorrow.

"Yes," said Magneto, again with another heavy sigh. "But I had hoped that you might. I wanted you to believe in me, and to trust in me, without anything else to affect your judgment of me. As your sister did. I wasn't planning on telling you until then."

A chill ran down Pietro's spine. "Telling me what?"

"That it was no accident that I saved your sister that day. I was not passing by chance; I was looking for her. And for you."

The floor seemed to fall out from below him. His stomach dropped. The room suddenly felt like a winter wilderness. Pietro could find no words.

Magneto removed his helmet, something Pietro had never seen done. He leaned forward so that light fell, unimpeded, on the whole of his face.

He had an agelessness about him. There was age, deep wrinkles here and there, but contrasted against surrounding skin that was healthy and youthful. His hair was stark white, almost unnaturally so.

Just like Pietro's.

And Magneto stared at him in a soft, sad, hopeful look with ice-blue eyes.

Magneto spoke. "You weren't there. You'd already gone. Fate, it seems, conspired to keep us apart just a bit longer. I came upon your sister alone."

Pietro's mouth was dry again. He couldn't seem to draw a breath. He spoke, and it sounded like such a faint whisper that it was a miracle he was heard. "I ran. Too far." His throat clenched as he spoke, threatening to unleash a sob. "I didn't mean to."

And Magneto's eyes watered to perfectly match Pietro's own. "I know, my son. I know."

* * *

 **neXt:** Hiding

If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review! I would love to hear what you liked, what you think is going to happen next, or what you hope will happen in this series!


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